


Let The Music Guide You Home

by orphan_account



Series: Killjoys Never Die [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Killjoy Names, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Past Character Death, Resurrection, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, funpoison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The desert was always a place defined by freedom. Killjoys were creatures built upon the concept; they breathed rebellion and bled music, that was how it was supposed to be. That was how Party Poison thought it always would be. At least, until he was ghosted, and woke up to a very different world.</p>
<p>The zones had dissolved into static. Only ghosts remained in that land where spirits had once run high. The rebellion had quieted in the absence of the Fabulous Four, and the only ones still speaking out were a certain slaughtermatic DJ, a handful of kids in over their heads, and allies in the most unexpected of places. But hope was not lost: the zones could be saved, the rebellion could still succeed. They hadn't lost yet.</p>
<p>It wasn't that killjoys never died... It was just that sometimes, they came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. get up and go

Nobody sang in the Zones anymore.

The concert venues were defunct. Mad Gear and Missile Kid were off the radar. There were rumors of the two hiding out in Zone Five, but they were never confirmed. DJ Hot Chimp’s station was snatched by BLI. Something had changed, and everyone knew what it was. But they refused to speak of it.

The desert was enveloped in a vast, stifling quiet. It was occasionally pierced by the sound of ray gun fire, but once the fight finished, the silence came back, stronger than ever. The Zones were transformed. Once the lands of raucous parties and rebellion, now, they were the lands of quiet hiding and hoping for the best. 

There was a distinct loss of spirit after the Fabulous Four got ghosted. In a different situation, they could have been martyrs. But the situation was much too dire for that. Their songs had been a battle cry, but now they were a bitter reminder of times past. They had opened a window of opportunity, to blast BLI back where they came from, but that window was slowly closing. Most believed it to be firmly shut. Better Living had won, there was no turning back, and the killjoy movement was nothing more than a halfhearted attempt at speaking out. 

Of course, not everyone thought this way.

“”I’m tellin’ you, this place has gotten so… uneventful. What happened? What went wrong? I know not all of you liked the Four. Don’t try and pretend you did. So why did you give up, sunshines? Why did you let your hearts die with them? Through all these dracs and scarecrows, and the radiation, and all BLI’s tricks, we had a purpose. We knew they would never kill us, and they didn’t. But complacency? Complacency is the true killer.”

Dr. Death Defying was one of the few DJs still in operation. His station had far fewer fans than it had during the good old days, but it had enough to keep him going, enough to give him hope. Most of the time he avoided the hard topics, for fear of losing the listeners he had left. People didn’t like to think about their personal failures. But sometimes… they was impossible _not_ to think about. 

“We still have a chance. We don’t have to sit back and let ourselves get exterminated. Think about it! All the old gangs up and at it again. Speeding down Route Guano with your gun in hand, shooting down dracs behind you. Don’t you remember how _exciting_ life used to be? Well, just so you know, it ain’t over. I see a new age on the horizon, desert flowers. It starts with us. All we have to do is remember how to begin… Here’s Na Na Na, for old time’s sake.”

Dr. Death Defying leaned back from the microphone, letting the music play. His ratings would surely drop in seconds, but he hoped against hope that most would stay and listen. They needed to listen.

It was time to end the silence.

“Hey, Doc?”

He turned around. Sitting on the other end of the room, on the couch outside his broadcasting area, was a boy. The kid looked a mess. Young, in his late teens, with eyes smeared black and hair that curled under the desert sun no matter how furiously he tried to straighten it. Called himself “Decaydance.” 

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think we could fight BLI again?”

Dr. D paused to consider this. “Yeah, I really do. I know we can. But other people’d have to realize it too, in order for it to happen.”

“How much would it take to convince them?” There was a glint in Decay’s eyes the likes of which Dr. D hadn’t seen in years. He laughed.

“Well… Persistence, for one. Zonerunners are stubborn. If they don’t want to remember something, it’ll take a lot to drag it out of them. You’d need to get a lot of attention in a big way. These people are tough, but I’ll be a draculoid if they can’t resist a show.” Dr. D smiled, recalling the ear-shattering concerts that used to take place in every Zone. “And you’d need some damn good music.”

“You’ve got good music,” said Decay, his nose crinkling. “It’s the only reason I hang out here so much.”

“I know, kid, I know. But it has to be something relevant and new. Like I said, they love a show.” Dr. D paused. “Why all these questions? You thinkin’ of startin’ up something?”

“No,” said Decay. But it was so unconvincing a lie that even he didn’t seem to believe it. Finally, he grinned. “Okay, maybe. But we’ll have to see where it goes.”

“Well, I wish you the best. I assume you’re about to burst out of here to go find some other eager young ones like yourself?”

“Of course.” Decay stood up, clearly itching with excitement. He walked calmly out the door, but as soon as he was out of sight, Dr. D heard his footsteps break into a run, and laughed.

“Good luck, kid. That’s the last thing you’ll need.”

***

Decaydance didn’t bother knocking before opening the door to the shack. He knew he was a welcome presence. 

“Who is it?” somebody said. 

“It’s Decay!” he called back. “C’mere, I wanna talk to you about something.”

“I’m already in here, dude.” A head peeked out around the pile of clutter in the center of the room. His hair was large and tangled enough for him to pass off as a bear, but Decay knew better than to run screaming. This was his friend.

“I’ve got a serious question,” he said, leaning against one of the more stable piles of crates and plastic waste. “Well, two serious questions. The first, how baked are you right now?”

The boy laughed. “No more, no less than usual.” Decay examined his face. It was set into a lazy smile, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot, but not excessively so. 

“I kind of wish you were sober right now, but you never are… So this’ll have to do.”

“That’s why they call me Maniac.”

“They call you Maniac because of the spinning thing, stupid.”

The boy’s smile faded a little. “Yeah, but it’s not like I do that anymore.”

The two of them were both suddenly aware of the guitar leaning against the wall, covered in dust. They didn’t look at it.

“This is sort of about that,” said Decay hesitantly. “I was thinking… I was thinking about the rebellion, y’know? About the Fab Four. You remember when we used to watch their shows?”

“Duh, I remember. They were why I used to play,” said Maniac, his eyes wide. “How come?”

“Well…” Decay looked at the guitar. “Do you want to start a band?”

Maniac was silent for a moment. Then he started laughing. “Dude, why would you want me sober for this? I’d take forever to decide. I would be all in my right mind, thinking about consequences and shit, all that ‘self-control’ getting in the way.”

Decay paused. “Is that a yes?”

“Fuck yeah that’s a yes.” Maniac pulled him in and clapped him on the back. “Who put this crazy idea in your head?”

Decay shrugged. “I was hanging out at Dr. D’s, and he was playing some old Fab Four stuff. It just made me think about how I haven’t seen a show in ages.”

“We’ll change that,” said Maniac, grinning. “What do we do first?”

“We need more members,” said Decay. As he thought about it, the plan solidified. They would recruit some other kids, practice, figure out their sound, write some songs, and fuck shit up. “I play bass… So we need a singer and a drummer. Do you know anybody?” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, did Scarlet Starlet ever do anything after the Four got dusted?”

“Nah, I haven’t heard her sing in years. Let me think…”

When Decay and Maniac were in their early teens, the music scene had been on the rise. _Everything_ had been on the rise. The revolution was looking up, the killjoys were starting to infiltrate Battery City… Then the Four disappeared. And everything went to shit.

But there were surely some old music stars left over. Maybe some would be willing to pick up their instrument again.

Maniac exhaled. “I don’t know. We’ll have to go looking.”

“Whatever, I figured we would have to.” Decay stuck out his hand, and Maniac grabbed onto it, pulling himself up.

“I’m gonna go get stocked up. You wanna come?”

“Sure.” Decaydance weaved his way through the messy house, Maniac close behind him. “If you have a ride.”

Maniac groaned. “I’m no juviehall, and I can’t afford wheels. You know damn well I haven’t got a ride yet.”

“You’re paying me back all the water I sweat, then.”

“Nobody’s making you come.”

“The prospect of band members is.” Decay swung the door open and let Maniac catch it. The second they stepped out, the desert sun burned down upon them. Decay squinted and pulled up his mask. “Of all the possible climates to live in, we got a desert. It almost makes you want in to Bat City.”

“Nah. The weed in there sucks.” Maniac trudged out from the shack to where Route Guano lay. While his living space wasn’t the cleanest, it did have a convenient location, unlike some others. He started down the road. Any self-respecting juviehall or motorbaby would have laughed at his pace, but luckily, he and Decay were the only ones around.

“Hey, wait, this is the wrong way,” said Decay, frowning. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, did I not tell you?” Maniac didn’t stop walking. “My regular guy gave me contaminated water, so I switched. Plus I heard the new one has ritalin.”

Decay groaned. “Aw, man, don’t. That stuff’s bad. Not like, cool bad, either. It’ll fuck you up.”

Maniac shrugged. “I mean, it’s kinda tempting. At least it gives you a purpose.”

“Addiction isn’t a purpose.”

“Out here, it’s a close enough imitation.”

For a minute, the desert silence crept in.

“A band is a purpose,” Decay said finally. “Let’s focus on that.”

Maniac nodded, and the silence swallowed them once more.

***

Decay’s jaw hung open. “This is the cleanest place I’ve ever seen.”

Maniac raised his eyebrows. “This guy _must_ have ritalin.”

The building before them was no shack, no abandoned market. It was an actual _house._ Small, yes, and dirty, but in the Zones, such a space was comparable to a palace. It was actually kind of intimidating.

Decay was the first to approach the door. As he raised his hand to knock, he froze. Maniac moved in to do it for him, but Decay batted his hand away.

“You hear that?”

Maniac squinted. Carefully, he pressed his ear to the door. After a few seconds, his jaw dropped.

“That’s music. That’s fucking _music!_ ” He grabbed Decay by the shoulder. He looked ready to squeal from excitement. “Duuude, that’s not just music. There’s somebody singing in there.”

Decay imitated Maniac, pressing his ear to the door. It felt too good to be true, but there was undoubtedly a voice singing along to the prerecorded track. 

“I think that’s Dr. D’s station in the background,” Decay whispered. 

“A rebel, then. Maybe,” said Maniac. “Holy shit. I’m so glad that guy gave me contaminated water.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” warned Decay. “We don’t know this dude. If he’s a ritalin dealer, I don’t know if we can trust him.”

“Whatever, supply dealers are usually trustworthy, whether or not their supplies include drugs. We should go in now.”

Before Decay could say anything, Maniac had knocked, and the music cut off abruptly. Footsteps could be heard hurrying to the door before it was pulled open.

Decay didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

This kid didn’t look like a killjoy. He looked like… well, a kid. A _city_ kid. His style seemed a little too punk for Bat City, yes, but he was clean and well-kempt enough that it might be ignored. He was blond, his hair mussed with sweat, and a pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. He pushed them up as Decay and Maniac stared at him, seeming flustered.

“Um, hello. Who are you?”

“Were you singing?” asked Maniac.

The boy froze. “Uh…”

“Sorry, my friend’s an idiot,” said Decay. “What he meant to say is, we’re here to pick up supplies.”

At this, the blond seemed to regain his composure. “Oh! Oh, right. What do you need?”

Decay began rattling off a list of supplies, Maniac occasionally chiming in. Water was the first and foremost. It was a valued commodity on the Zones, perhaps the most valued, next to food and drugs. At each request, the blond nodded.

“All right. I should be able to get all of that for you. There might be a little bit of a wait on the Power Pup, two days tops. But we’re good on the rest.” He disappeared into a back room.

“Ask him now,” Maniac muttered. Decay nodded and followed the boy into the room.

It took a moment for his presence to be revealed. The boy was busy digging through boxes, pulling out bottles and containers. When he turned to see Decay, he jumped. “Oh, hey. Do you need something else?”

“What’s your name?”

The boy adjusted his glasses again. “My, uh, alias name or my real name?”

Decay snorted. “Your alias name, duh. You new or something?”

“Fairly. I left Battery City about a year ago.” He smiled briefly. “My name’s Benzedrine now.”

That explained the appearance. But if he had only left a year ago…

Decay’s eyes narrowed. “You ever hear of the Fabulous Killjoys, Mr. Benzedrine?”

Benzedrine laughed nervously. “Oh, did I. They’re infamous in the city. Everybody talks about them, but nobody wants to get caught…”

“Funny. That’s kind of how it is here, too.” Benzedrine looked curious, so he continued. “You probably left thinking that this was gonna be some kind of utopia, right? All the freedom and partying and music? Well, you got the freedom. And years ago you would have got the other stuff too. But the Fabulous Killjoys went and got themselves dusted, so nowadays, nobody wants to rebel anymore.”

“Well, I certainly like it here better than the city, regardless of its utopian or dystopian qualities.”

Decay raised an eyebrow. “See, that’s how I knew you were new here.”

“What?” 

“You look like a city kid, you talk like a city kid. But here’s what I’m trying to find out.” Decay leaned in closer. “Do you _think_ like a city kid?”

“I don’t think so.” Benzedrine set down the bottles of water in his arms, taking a deep breath. “Look, if you’re trying to figure me out or whatever, here’s what you need to know. I left Battery City because I realized that BLI was a corrupted, manipulative institution. This place is better. Even if there isn’t rebellion, it’s good to be free.” He hesitated. “But it also seems like people have given up. And I don’t get that. Sure, the original killjoys are gone, but that doesn’t mean anything. They weren’t gods. They were people just like the rest of us, and they fought just like the rest of us could. I don’t see why we can’t keep fighting.”

Decaydance grinned.

“Now you’re talking like a zonerunner. I got another question for you. Did you know that music, and, by association, bands, were the most widely celebrated form of revolution way back when?”

Benzedrine nodded.

“I heard your music earlier. And I heard your voice. Even before that little spiel, I knew you had to have some kind of spirit in you.” He held up his fist. “So. You wanna start a band?”

Benzedrine hesitantly brought his fist to meet Decay’s. “Can I play drums?”

Decay sighed. “A voice like that, and you’re wasting it on drums?”

“I’m not a singer!” Benzedrine protested. “You’ll find somebody else to sing. We will, I mean.”

“Fine. You’d better be one hell of a drummer, though.”

As Decay turned to leave the room, Benzedrine grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, wait. You never told me your name.”

Decay smiled. “My real name or my alias name?”

“Neither, but I think the social norms here dictate that I ask for your alias.”

“Jeez. Go back to ranting about rebellion, you sound like a textbook in casual conversation.” Decay clapped him on the back. “The name’s Decaydance. I’ll see you around?”

“See you.”

Something was stirring up in the Zones. The people may not have been aware of it, but the desert itself had a knowledge. The air hummed with anticipation. Soon, lightning would strike, and the real fight could begin. The music would play loud enough for all to hear.

All someone had to do was push start.


	2. if you sing these words, we'll never die

It started with the twitch of fingers.

A breeze caressed his skin, bringing back feeling. Slowly, his hand curled into a fist. Then the other. Then he let both palms fall flat against the ground. It was hard and dusty beneath him, but he relished the feeling. He hadn’t felt the touch of the sand in so long. He hadn’t felt anything in so very long.

He opened his eyes.

Someone had taken his mask off. Anger flitted briefly through his mind. But his hands brushed the ground alongside him, and they soon fell upon it. He tucked it around his head, relieved. Getting a new one would have been a pain in the ass.

He propped his arms against the ground and brought himself to a sitting position. When he glimpsed the state of his jacket, he had to hold back an indignant yelp. It was caked with dust, the original blue lost in layer after layer of brown. All attempts to brush it away were in vain. He checked the ray gun strapped to his thigh. It was in better condition. Dusty, yes, but with a few swipes of his hand it was clean again. He pointed it to a nearby cactus and fired.

The cactus exploded. He grinned.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He coughed. Jesus, his throat was dry. And his voice sounded hoarse beyond belief. He’d need some serious warm-ups before he’d be ready to sing again. 

He rolled onto his feet, then stood up. 

He didn’t remember where it had happened. All he could recall was a swarm of dracs, something about Korse, and a blinding heat that pierced his neck. 

And the girl.

And the _girl._

He spun in a circle. Where had she gone? Was she safe? Were _any_ of them safe? Suddenly, he felt sick. He wasn’t surprised that he had ended up back in the Zones, but he couldn’t be sure if the other killjoys had. He prayed that they had.

Partying alone would just suck.

He surveyed the land around him. It was flat and desolate, but that was nothing new. He needed a marker… There!

The mailbox. The mailbox for the dead, it was right there! He ran over to it as quickly as he could, but stopped once he could see it clearly. It looked… faded. Old. Whenever he used to take the girl to visit, it was brightly painted. Even after sandstorms, someone would always go to restore the damaged paint. 

On a whim, he reached inside.

He came out with a fist full of letters, and ripped one open. It was dated to… 2020. But that was in the future. He tore open the next, and found the same date. And the next one was dated 20 _21_. 

But after 2022, there were no more letters.

“What the hell?” he murmured.

He reached into the mailbox again, scraping the bottom. Only one letter remaining. It was a flimsy thing, hard to grab on to, but he pulled it out successfully. 

It was addressed to Party Poison.

He smiled. “Well, looks like I got it a little late, but let’s see here…” He paused, then shouted in mock offense. “Hey! What gives? This is a mailbox for the _dead_ , not for fan mail.”

Unless…

Unless.

Poison had always felt a disconnection with death. There was something strange about the concept, like it would never happen to him. He hadn’t ever expected to die. And by the looks of it, he hadn’t. But maybe he was supposed to. Maybe people thought he had…

Maybe years had passed since the age of the killjoys, and now his name was just a sigh on the wind. 

He opened the letter.

_To Party Poison:_

_Why did you have to get dusted? Everything’s different now. The Zones are not the same place they were when I was a kid. I wish you were still around, to whip us all back into shape or whatever. You couldn’t even imagine how much people secretly looked up to you. You couldn’t imagine how hopeless it is now._

_Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference if you were here. That’d be really ironic. Maybe the killjoys were always destined to fail, and it was just a matter of time._

_But that’s not what I believe._

_I think we need a hero. It doesn’t have to be you, although you’re the one people are most familiar with. It could be someone new. Someone who follows in your footsteps to bring down BLI._

_As soon as I find someone up for the job, I’ll write you again._

The letter was unsigned. Poison felt sicker than ever.

There were no other letters addressed to him.

Would _no one_ fight? He found that hard to believe. The killjoys he knew would never give up, no matter what. Not Fun Ghoul or Kobra Kid or Jet Star. Not Dr. D or Show Pony, or Mad Gear and Missile Kid… 

Unless they had all gotten ghosted, too. 

Poison stuck the letter back in the box. He had to get to Dr. Death Defying’s lair. He had to figure out what the hell had happened.

Now, where was Route Guano?

He couldn’t see it anywhere, so he picked a direction and hoped it was the right one. As he walked, the worries crept in.

If he had been taken out, there was a good chance the other Fabulous Killjoys would have been. It all came down to whether or not they had reappeared, like he had. He needed to find them. No matter the circumstance, he would _not_ accept the deaths of his friends. 

And then, once he had them all together, they would find the girl.

Her narrative was the most troubling to Poison. Why did BLI want her so badly? They had probably captured her, once there was no one left to protect her. What would they do to her? The thought of the girl turned into some mindless, obedient city-dweller spurred Poison to anger. He walked faster. Where the _fuck_ was the street?

There it was.

He broke into a run when he saw it, not stopping until his boots hit blacktop. Poison knew this route like the back of his hand. He just needed to get his bearings. 

There was that mountain… And that funny rock… But where was? Oh, there. Yes!

If he was correct about his position, which he was, he would need to turn right and go about ten miles in order to find Dr. Death Defying. 

Poison tugged his mask down over his eyes and turned.

Those miles wouldn’t walk themselves.

***

The broadcasting station was nothing if not difficult to locate. It was strategically placed in an old bomb shelter dating back to the first of the Helium Wars, meaning that if you didn’t know where to look, you would never find the entrance. Luckily, Party Poison knew the route. As soon as he saw the familiar dip in the desert terrain, he hopped off Route Guano and headed for the station.

The entrance was concealed in a cluster of rocks. When Poison yanked on the handle, he found it to be locked from the inside. Well, wasn’t that just lovely. He’d have to make his presence known. 

He kicked the door as hard as he could, then swore. He had forgotten how much it hurt to do that.

It took a few minutes for anything to happen. But finally, the door swung open, and Poison stared down the barrel of a ray gun.

“Woah, Dr. D. I know it’s been a while, but you don’t need to be such a stranger.”

Dr. Death Defying squinted in the sun. “Who is that?”

Poison rolled his eyes. “Come on, didn’t you hear what I just said?”

He expected the gun to lower, but instead, it was jabbed into his neck. 

“Who are you?” Dr. D growled. “And where the-- where in the _hell_ did you get his jacket? I knew this place was going downhill, but I didn’t think we’d gotten so disrespectful of our history.”

Poison slapped the gun away. “What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck. You don’t recognize me? It’s _me_ , D, it’s Party Poison.”

Dr. D’s gun lowered, but the stare he fixed on Poison was icy cold. “Party Poison got dusted years ago, kid. I knew him. And if you think this little joke is funny, then you’ve--”

“Doc,” said Poison. He pulled the mask off his face. “It’s me.”

Dr. D’s glare faltered. His eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked ready to pull Poison into his arms.

But instead, he grabbed him by the collar and snarled, “Don’t fuck with me. Party Poison is _dead_. If this is some kind of BLI trick, I won’t stand for it. I have a hard enough time keeping these Zones together without your company interfering.” 

“Chill out!” Poison slapped him away. “Jesus. I’m not from BLI. You think any Better Living officer would ever degrade themselves so much as to wear _this_ getup? I need you to believe me, D, I really do. I don’t know how I got here. I just woke up in the middle of the goddamn desert after who knows how long, I don’t know where the other killjoys are, and I don’t know where the girl is. Help me.” He grabbed Dr. D by the shoulders. “ _Help me._ ”

Dr. D backed away warily. “I’ve got no cause to believe you. You yourself said you don’t know how you got here, and that doesn’t seem like a great cover story.”

“When have I ever had a good cover story?” Poison said simply.

A smile spread across Dr. D’s face. “Well, I suppose I can’t remember a time, either.” 

There was a moment of hesitation, then he flung his arm around Poison’s shoulder. 

“Come on, kid, let’s get you inside. You’re gonna attract dracs with that hair flashing around.”

***

“ _What_ happened?” Party Poison stuck his plastic fork into the can of Power Pup in his hands. “That can’t be. I can’t imagine any Zonerunner giving up, much less all of them.”

“That’s how it went, Poison.” Dr. D sighed. “I didn’t want to believe it myself. But people took it hard when you disappeared.”

Poison shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah…” It was an odd situation to be in. Apparently, Korse had shot him right up the head, and he couldn’t remember any of it. It was hard to believe he’d really gotten ghosted. After all, there he was, alive and kicking. He didn’t _feel_ dead.

He cleared his throat. “What happened to the others?”

The pity in Dr. Death Defying’s eyes made Poison’s skin itch. “They went the same as you. Kobra didn’t make it out, but Jet Star did. He got the girl to me.”

“And what happened to him?” asked Poison.

“What do you think happened? He got shot.”

Poison’s eyes narrowed. “And Ghoul?”

“Well…” Dr. De hesitated. “Here’s the thing. He could’ve made it out just fine. He and Jet Star were tearin’ out of that place, but he turned around. He’d seen Kobra fall, and he had to have known you were gone by then. So he ran back in. It was stupid, and self-sacrificing, and overall a pointless move, considering the people he wanted to save were already dead. But it was enough of a distraction to get the girl out safe.”

Poison scowled. “That goddamn idiot. At least she’s all right, then. Where is she?”

Dr. D looked away, and every red flag in Poison’s mind was thrown into the air.

“What happened to her?”

“She… BLI took her back. They came after us, and everything was going crazy. They stole her away. We never saw her again. I don’t know what they want with her, Poison, but it sure as hell ain’t good.” 

It took a moment for the fury to appear in Poison’s face. “How could you let that happen?” he shouted. “How could you let them get her after we gave everything for her? After we _died_ for her? Did it even matter?”

“Of course it did,” Dr. D snapped. “That’s why we were so messed up. I’ve thought everything you’re saying, boy, and I’ve been thinking it for years. You’re not telling me anything new.”

Poison inhaled deeply. Dr. D was, annoyingly as usual, right. Poison had been gone a long time. He didn’t know what the radio host had been through. The anger simmered across the surface of his mind, but he let it cool. Getting pissed wouldn’t accomplish anything. 

“I assume you’ve tried to get her back?”

Dr. D snorted. “Obviously. No luck, though. But then again… We didn’t have you.”

“That’s true,” said Poison. “We’ll get her back this time. But first…” He pulled down his mask. “We need to find the killjoys. They can’t be dead. They’ll come back, I know they will. All we have to do is find them.”

Dr. D pushed himself up. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Poison grinned. 

“We’ll get everything back to normal, D. Trust me. BLI won’t dare show their ugly faces here again once I’m done with them.” His smile turned dangerous. “They won’t be showing their faces _anywhere_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dose of Poison to heal your heart. From now on, chapters will alternate POV. It'll probably go so every other chapter centers around the fab four.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	3. play the game and take the band real far

“You’re not half bad,” said Decay, impressed. “But I still think you're a better singer.”

Benzedrine set down the pair of plastic knives that served as makeshift drumsticks. “I told you, I’m not singing unless I have to.”

“Chill. I’m sure we can find another singer. In the meantime…” Decay plucked at his bass, and a deep note sounded through the room. Maniac laughed.

“I missed that sound.” His own guitar was slung around his neck, and his fingers idly strummed at half-remembered chords as he sat. 

“I missed playing,” Decay admitted. “We should swing by Dr. D’s place later to give him a thank-you. Maybe he’ll even air something asking for any available singers.”

“Totally. He’ll air our music, too, as soon as we have any.” Maniac plucked out a simple melody on his strings. “Remember when you wrote shit?”

“I still write shit,” said Decay. 

“Yeah, but it's been so long since you tried to do anything with it.”

Benzedrine perked up. “What did you write?”

“Lyrics, mostly. Poetry. Maniac here wrote some melodies, and we almost wrote songs, but we never quite made it.”

Benzedrine hesitated. He looked as if he were about to say something, but decided against it. “Can I see some of your writing?”

Decay shrugged. “If I can find it. And it's not the best in the world, so be warned.”

“Bullshit,” said Maniac, grinning. “You're an amazing writer.”

“Dude, you're ruining my modesty.” Decay stood up and surveyed the room. Maniac’s place was a mess, and piles of junk filled almost every square foot of space. “How do you organize your stuff?”

“I don’t. Why are you assuming that I even have any of your journals?”

“I kept enough of them and I spent enough time here, there's got to be at least one. Help me look.”

Decay and Maniac stood up and began to search. After a minute, Benzedrine jumped up, as if realizing that he should join in. 

Though they had only just met, Decay liked him. He could tell they were going to be good friends. He was a little awkward socially, but that was probably due to the fact that he’d only just left the city. Once the city’s mannerisms vanished from his personality, he’d be a true killjoy. He had the spirit. And he seemed to have more morals than the average ‘joy, too. On the way back to Maniac’s place, they had spied someone’s hidey-hole with a few supplies. There was a good chance it was abandoned, and it would’ve been great looting material, but Benzedrine had persuaded them to move on. He could get them whatever they needed.

He would surely be a valuable asset.

“What am I looking for?” Benzedrine asked. 

“Just a plain black journal,” Decay replied. He tossed aside an empty can of Power Pup and shifted a crate to reach the one below it. “The writing inside should be all-caps and messy as all hell.” Benzedrine laughed.

“I still think it would be a better idea to look at _your_ place,” Maniac complained. 

“You know I’m hardly ever over there.”

“Whatever, man, I just don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

After half an hour of searching, Decay admitted his friend to be right. They could spend more time searching, but it would be a waste of time. There were other places to check first.

“We should check Dr. D’s,” he suggested. “I mean, we were gonna go there anyway.”

“You ever been to his broadcasting station?” Maniac asked Benzedrine. He shook his head.

“No. I listen to him all the time, though.”

“He’s better in person,” said Decay, already on his way to the door. “You guys coming?”

“All these years, you’ve forgotten those books even existed,” Maniac grumbled. “And now you want to show off the first opportunity you get. Typical.”

Decay rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll show off everything you wrote, too.”

“Oh. Well, in that case.”

***

Decaydance didn’t bother rattling the handle before knocking. The station door would be locked, as always. If he just knocked long enough, Dr. D would come up, grumbling, and let them in.

He kept knocking.

It seemed like it had been too long. Maybe Dr. D was preoccupied with some angry caller? That did seem to happen fairly often these days. But usually, he didn’t hesitate to hang up if he knew someone was at the door. Where was he?

“That’s funny,” said Decay, puzzled. “He should’ve answered by now.”

“Maybe he’s out,” Benzedrine suggested.

“Nah, he never goes out. He hasn’t had a reason to in years.” Decay leaned back and looked around. All was sand and silence. It didn’t seem like anything had moved… but maybe it was worth a check.

“Where would he have gone?” asked Maniac.

“Who knows. Let’s check the garage,” said Decay.

“Garage?” Benzedrine asked.

“It’s where he keeps his wheels. He’s one of the lucky few who has a real car.”

“Two, now,” Maniac added.

Decay looked at him scornfully. “The second one isn’t his.”

“But he’s keeping it, so it may as well be.”

Benzedrine looked politely confused, so Decay elected to move on.

The “Garage” was a mile or so from the station. An abandoned supply store, it had a loading dock in the rear with an opening wide enough for a car or two to drive in. Close the door behind them, and voila, you had a garage. The rest of the store was the territory of a local gang, so they had to be a little cautious.

“Just gotta get round the back,” Decay mumbled. “And…” There was the door. It didn’t have any security measures, which was both a blessing and a curse. Its sole protector was secrecy. Barely anyone knew it was there, but if the wrong person found out, it was simple enough to say that Dr. D wouldn’t have wheels any longer. This was the reason Decay was nervous about sharing the space with another gang. Dr. D evidently trusted them, but you could never be too careful. 

But the lack of security did make it easy for them to swing the door open and reap the spoils.

“The van’ still there,” said Maniac. “He can’t have… wait a minute.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Where the hell’s the Trans Am?”

Decay looked around. “It’s gone.” He went around the side of the van to peer further in, but the space formerly occupied by the legendary vehicle was empty. “Holy shit, it’s gone!”

“Did somebody steal it?” Maniac demanded.

“I don’t think so,” said Decay. “I mean, if it was the van, I would say yes. But I think people respect D enough to leave the car.”

“I probably sound ignorant by saying this, but what is the Trans Am?” asked Benzedrine. Decay looked at him and laughed. He sat down on the hood of the van.

“The Trans Am was the car that belonged to the Fabulous Four. It’s, like, iconic. Nobody would just take it. I mean… maybe they would. But I don’t think so. I know I’d never be able to take the same wheel Party Poison did.”

“Did he leave it with Dr. Death Defying?” said Benzedrine, sounding awed. 

“Not really. It was always just kind of assumed that D would keep his shit.”

“So they knew each other, then.”

Decay laughed again. “Knew each other? Dude, they were tight! D used to have the whole gang over at his station a few times a week. I wish I had started visiting then, but I was always too nervous. I only became a regular after they were gone.” This thought sobered him up. “D hasn’t driven the Trans Am since… uh, ever, I guess. Why would he take it now?”

“Maybe he’s switching zones?” said Maniac, not confidently. “He’s had to change his location before. If he was getting hunted down, it would make sense for him to not tell anyone.”

“He would tell his friends, though. And he’d probably send out some kind of message on air that could be used to find him.” Decay slid down to the ground. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until he gets back.”

Maniac groaned. “That could be hours from now!”

“We can entertain ourselves. Hey! We were going to practice at your house, why not just do it here?”

“Maybe because we don’t have instruments?” Maniac said drily.

“Shut up. We can work on writing lyrics. We could come up with our name!”

“I think we should wait on our name until we have a singer. A gang’s name is like, its definition. It needs to be something we all agree on. As for lyrics…” He shrugged. “I’m game.”

“Okay, so, uh.” Decay pursed his lips. “What do we want to write about?”

“What everybody write about. Blowing stuff up. Fighting BLI. Expressing yourself,” said Maniac.

“I think it should be more than that,” said Benzedrine. “We need to put our own twist on it. This isn’t just fighting, it’s resurrection. We’re bringing back the old world and changing it for the new generation. Remixing the hits into something new and unique, something that makes us distinctive in the fight.”

“Put on your war paint,” Decay murmured. 

“Yes.” Benzedrine paused. “That’s a good line.”

“Yeah, it’s from something I wrote a long time ago. You just reminded me of it… I had forgotten all about it, honestly, but it could be the basis of something good. All we’ve got to do is change it.” Decay concentrated on remembering. “Cross walks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies, silver clouds with grey linings…”

“That’s good too,” said Benzedrine, impressed. “You weren’t lying about your writing.”

“Aw, c’mon, you’ve heard, like, two lines.”

“I can still tell that we’re going to do something amazing.” 

***

It was several hours before Dr. D showed any signs of returning. The three passed ideas back and forth, bantering and taking notes, until they had a few ideas for songs. Decay had to admit, their little group was working well together. But the novelty of writing did wear off, and after a while, they just laid on the hood of Dr. D’s van and stared at the ceiling.

“When is he coming back?” Decay moaned. “Maybe we should just head back.”

“No way,” said Maniac. “You made us wait here all this time, we’re sticking it out.”

“That’s stupid. We can just come ba--”

“Shut up,” Benzedrine said suddenly. “I hear something.”

Maniac and Decay went silent. Sure enough, the quiet roar of an engine could be heard in the distance.

“Think it’s him?” Maniac said in a hushed tone.

“It’s gotta be.” Decay sat up. “Come on, get off before he yells at us for sitting on his car again.”

The three slid off the hood and moved towards the garage entrance. Far off was a vehicle, kicking up dust as it sped down the road. As it grew closer, Decay could make out a dirty white paint job and classic build. 

“That’s the Trans Am, no doubt about it.”

“If he’s got that thing up and running again, how much do you think I’d have to trade in order to take it for a spin?” Maniac muttered.

“Your life’s worth in weed, probably,” Decay whispered back.

“Damn it.”

The car began to slow down as it approached the garage. Decay and his friends must have been seen by now, so he offered a wave. He couldn’t see the driver yet, so he couldn’t tell whether or not it was returned.

Finally, it pulled up to the entrance and stopped. Dr. D climbed out of the passenger’s side and froze when he saw them.

“What’re you boys doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” said Decay, as if this much should be obvious. “You weren’t at the station, so we came here to check. We’ve been waiting all day. Where the hell were you? Why’d you take that?” He pointed to the Trans Am. His eyes landed on the passenger’s seat, now empty, then narrowed. Why hadn’t Dr. D been driving?

He looked over to the driver’s seat, then froze.

Maniac and Benzedrine wore similar expressions of shock. 

“I’d been hoping to keep this under wraps for now,” Dr. D grumbled. “But I suppose the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Is that…” Decay could barely speak, his heart was racing so fast.

The driver hopped out of the car and leaned against the open door. “New blood, huh? Excellent. Who’re you?”

Benzedrine was the first to find his voice. “Uh, that’s Decaydance, this is Maniac, and, um... I’m Benzedrine.”

“Nice to meet you all.” The driver slammed the door shut and grinned.

“I’m Party Poison. Want to help me start a revolution?”


	4. are y'all ready where you are?

The long drive across the zones had given Poison and Dr. Death Defying plenty of chance to catch up. There wasn't much to share on Poison’s side-- the last thing he remembered was dying, if that was what had happened, and then waking up. But Dr. Death had a shocking amount of news. Poison could barely believe how the zones had evolved in the time he was gone.

“What? You're kidding. He was the best DJ on air, aside from you.”

“Ain't that the truth. But he beat himself up, Poison. To this day he still thinks he could've saved you,” said Dr. D.

“Maybe he could have. But that doesn't fucking matter. What's done is done, and I’m here now.” Poison sighed. “After we’re done searching, I’m gonna tell that little punk to his face that he didn't do anything wrong.”

Dr. D shifted in his seat. “The desert’s a damn big place. We aren't gonna find them in one day, and you know it.”

“We don't have to. We just have to keep looking.” Poison’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “They're out there, somewhere.”

“I’m just saying, maybe we should focus on the home front until we get a better lead. Cherri needs to see you, and he ain't the only one.”

Poison scowled. “Are you saying I should leave my friends out there all by themselves?”

“Look, we barely know anything about this situation. You died. All of you. And I know you're convinced that the others are waiting, but we can't waste our time picking apart every grain of sand in the zones. And if they are out there, they can handle themselves on their own for a while. You trust them, don’t you?”

Poison was quiet for a moment. He stared out the window, watching the dunes go by. “Yeah, I do.”

They turned back shortly. Dr. D went on about all the other things Poison had missed, but the redhead still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. Taking a break felt like giving up, no matter how his friend assured him it wasn't.

His mood only began to brighten when he saw the group of kids loitering in Dr. D’s garage.

“Who’re they?” Poison said curiously. Dr. D looked up, squinted, and groaned.

“They're the new you. Just a bunch of kids who hang around the station, you know the type. Don't know what in the hell they're after, but once they see you, they'll flip their lids. We're gonna get interrupted.”

Poison’s heart sank. They didn't know how much time they had, they couldn't just waste it on socializing. Although… He would be lying if he didn't want to see these kids’ reactions.

They pulled in, and at first, they didn't seem to notice Poison. But after a moment they definitely took notice. He gave them a once-over before he got out of the car. 

One seemed to be a new killjoy, an undergrad. He had that look about him. He was looking at Poison with a mix of polite confusion and awe, a tame expression compared to his friends. The one with the afro’s eyes were bugging out of his head. The hair kind of reminded Poison of Jet Star. 

But the last one, he was different. His face was calmer, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that betrayed a greater level of excitement than either of his companions. 

Poison climbed out. When asked, the tree nervously introduced themselves. Maniac, Benzedrine, and Decaydance. Odd names, but not bad ones. Not bad at all. He supposed the trends had changed with time. 

The one thing that hadn't changed was his reputation, apparently. They obviously knew who he was. He wondered what would have happened if he drove up with all his friends in tow. 

Hey.

There was an idea.

“Nice to meet you all. I’m Party Poison.” He paused. “Want to help me start a revolution?”

There was a pause as Dr. D gave him a blank look. “Help you _what?_ They’re kids, Poison.”

Poison rolled his eyes. “So what? They don't have to get in our way, D, they can help us. Like you said, it'll take forever if it's only the two of us searching. We can find the others, rescue the girl, and then bring the zones back to what they're supposed to be!”

“The zones aren't the way they used to be, that's the point,” Dr. D argued. “You used to be able to have a six-year-old on your team. Now, people their age aren't old enough.” He pointed to Benzedrine.

“What do you need us to do?” Benzedrine piped up. “I'm sure we can help.” Yeah, that one was definitely a newbie. Poison grinned at the long-suffering look on Dr. Death Defying’s face. 

“I need you to help me find the other fabulous killjoys,” said Poison. The three teenagers looked confused, and he cleared his throat to begin an explanation, taking a brief moment to savor the familiar feeling of being looked up to. “Here's the deal. A few years ago, me, Kobra Kid, Jet Star, and Fun Ghoul all got ghosted, and you know the kid who used to hang with us? She got stolen by BLI. I just reappeared, so I assume the others have, too. We need to find them and rescue the girl. Capice?”

“If you really got ghosted, how are you here?” asked Decaydance.

“Good question. Honestly, I've got no freakin’ clue. But that's not the point-- the girl is our first priority. Our second priority is to start fighting BLI again.” Poison frowned. “I don't know why that ever stopped… But we need to give the zones a wake-up call. You in?”

“Hell yes,” Decay said instantly. “Can we go out right now?”

Poison looked to Dr. D. “I don't know, can we?”

The DJ glanced at each of them, then heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right. But you're all chippin’ in for gas, got it?”

***

“You know, the Trans Am isn't just rare because it's a car,” said Poison. Immediately, all eyes in the vehicle turned to him. The kids were totally starstruck, and while it was hilarious, Poison did have to admit he relished the attention.

Entertaining them had turned out to be fun. They were older than the Girl had been, so he didn't have to keep his mouth in check (although he never really had). He had the power of fame on his side, and every word he spoke seemed to make the three idolize him more. Plus, they were interesting to talk to. Zone culture had changed a lot in the past few years. They were different from anyone Poison had hung out with.

He was having fun.

“It isn't?” said Benzedrine, his nose wrinkling. “What else about it is special?”

Poison pointed to the dashboard. “Press that button.” Benzedrine leaned up from the back seat and did as he was told, and a compartment popped open. Inside was a small stack of CDs.

“Woah,” he said, his jaw falling open. “How did you get these?”

Poison cleared his throat. “Well, it all started with a pair of roller skates, a flamethrower, and ten shots of Bloody Mary’s most lethal tequila--”

Dr. D scoffed. “Don't be lyin’ to these kids. They deserve the real story.”

Poison rolled his eyes. “Okay, it was six. But anyway--”

“Hey!” Maniac shouted suddenly. His arm shot into the front seat to point through the window. “Look! Stop the car!”

Poison slammed on the brakes without a second thought. The car screeched to a halt. “What is it?” He leaned forward over the steering wheel. Through the windshield, a figure was visible, stumbling around the desert. 

A figure in a very familiar red jacket.

For a moment, Poison’s heart stopped beating.

When it restarted, he was tumbling out of the car, the door flung open wide. His feet skidded in the sand, and he was just barely able to grab the door and right himself before he was tearing out into the desert. 

_”Kobra!”_

The figure spun around. As soon as he laid eyes on Poison, the two rushed forward and smacked into each other.

“Poison?” Kobra said, grabbing onto his brother’s jacket. “Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” Poison pulled him into a brief embrace. “Shit, am I glad to see you.”

“No kidding. What the hell happened?” Kobra pulled back, looking Poison over. “You went down in that fight. Poison, I-- I saw Korse _shoot you._ How are you even here? What's going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Poison said grimly. “You got dusted, too. Apparently we all did.”

“But--”

“Kobra, that fight was years ago. I don't know how or why we’re still kicking, and I don't care. We have shit to do.” Poison clapped him on the back and pointed towards the Trans Am. “I rounded up some new blood. Plus Dr. D, but he doesn't count as new, the guy’s ancient. I don't know where Jet or Ghoul are. But we’ll fix that soon enough.”

“Sorry, did you say _years ago_?” Kobra said.

“Yes. Try and keep up.” Poison tugged him by his jacket sleeve towards the car. “Come on, I said we've got shit to do!”

Kobra started forward, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”

“Hell no. We're getting right back to it!” Poison whooped and thumped the roof of the car. “Oh, I should mention, we have a fan club now.”

“Hey!” Maniac said from the back seat, indignant. “We aren't--”

“He wants your autograph!” Decaydance hollered over his friend. 

The back seat broke out in a flurry of squabbling. Kobra Kid and Party Poison shared an amused look.

“I know it's a lot to take in. But I need you to be on your feet. Can you do that?” Poison asked.

Kobra shrugged. “Feels like we’re always up to our necks in it. I’ll adjust… t’s just another firefight, right? I've got your back. You know I do.”

“Good.” Poison climbed into the driver’s seat. “Just wanted to make sure you'd be cool riding in the back!”

Decay cheered. Kobra glanced into the backseat, which had a criminal lack of space, and sighed. “Is it too late to retract that statement?”

“Pile on in, bro,” Poison snickered. Benzedrine scooted over as far as he could to make room for Kobra, who slammed the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary.

“Good to see you again, kid,” said Dr. D. Kobra nodded respectfully.

“Still riding the airwaves?”

“Always and forever. The day the static takes me is the day this place loses hope.” Dr. D turned around to face Kobra, grinning. “Or, that's how it felt when you were gone. I’m starting to get excited.”

“Oh, you should be,” said Poison. “Everybody buckle up!”

“There aren't any seatbelts in here,” Maniac complained.

“Guess you'll just have to hope we don't crash!”

“Wait.” Dr. D put his hand on Poison’s shoulder. “I know you're raring to go, I am too, but don't you think we should take a break? You wanted to find a friend, and you did. Your mission’s on it’s way. But you haven't seen each other in years. Even if it might not feel like it. You deserve some time to catch up.”

Poison sighed. “But if Kobra was here, maybe--”

“There's no reason to believe the others would be close by.”

Poison frowned. “Well…” He looked at Kobra. “What do you think?”

Kobra Kid shrugged. “I don't know. Whatever you want to do is cool.” He shifted in his seat. “I mean, we can always catch up as we go, right?”

Poison grinned. “Exactly. That kind of intelligence is how I know we’re related.” He turned back to the wheel. “Everybody hold on!”

The car took off, heading even further out into the desert. 

“Most ‘joys are nutjobs on some level, but you two,” Dr. D said. “You two are the craziest kids this side of Zone 3.”

“Only Zone 3?” Kobra objected. “I’d say in the whole desert.”

“Ah, that's true.” Dr. D looked thoughtful. “Although, there are a few who’d give you a run for your money.”

“Really?” Poison said curiously. “Who? We’ll have to pay them a visit and show them who runs this place.”

Dr. D’s face darkened. “I wouldn't. The one I’m talking about ain't crazy in a good way. He's got dangerous ideas. Goes around talking about starting wars, got no idea what he's talking about.”

“We’ll shut him up,” Kobra said, confident. “Once the gang’s back together, one look at us will send him running for the hills.”

“I’m not sure it--”

“Hey, wait,” Kobra said. He pushed his sunglasses up to his forehead and leaned into the front seat to look at Poison. “If Ghoul and Jet are M.I.A., where's the girl?”

Poison grimaced.

“Where is she?” Kobra demanded. 

“You want to tackle that one, D?” Poison asked.

“BLI took her, son,” said Dr. D. His voice held a note of pity.

“What?” Kobra yelped.

“They set their sights on her the second you were out of the picture. She's got something they want, but I’m clueless as to what that might be. We tried our best. We did everything we could, but they got her in the end.”

Kobra’s eyes narrowed. Beneath the surface, there was a simmering anger that Poison knew all too well. If you fucked with the Kobra, you got the fangs. Kobra Kid was slower to anger than Poison or Ghoul, but when you pissed him off, you lived to regret it.

It was always fun to watch.

“So, what happened? Have you tried to get her back? Do you know what they've _done_ to her?” asked Kobra.

“Of course we've tried,” Dr. D said, sounding slightly offended. “But Bat City’s security has only gotten better. You can barely get in. The old days of breaking in with a blaze of glory and gunfire are over. Even the runners are having trouble. In fact, there are only a few left in business.”

“That's true,” said Benzedrine, who had been quiet up until that point. “I started running a while ago, and it's gotten noticeably more difficult over the past few months alone. I might have to close up shop if it stays like this.”

“No, don't do that,” Maniac whined. “Then I’ll have to go back to my old supplier, that'll just be awkward after I ditched him for you!”

“What about Tommy?” Kobra asked. “He's got to be still around, right?”

Dr. D laughed. “He and his employees make up most of the few. He has some new kids around… Honestly, they're probably the only reason he's still afloat, but he's doing all right.”

“We could use their help to break into the city,” said Decaydance. “I know a couple of them pretty well.

Kobra smiled at him, and Poison had to laugh at the way he quickly looked away. While Decay certainly had a better grip over his fanboy tendencies than his friends did, they were occasionally visible.

“Is this a plan, then?” Maniac asked. “Are we doing this?”

“I don't see why not,” Poison said cheerfully. “Next step, find Jet and Ghoul. After that, talk to some runners and bust into the city. After _that_ , wreak some havoc and rescue the girl.”

“Sounds easy,” Kobra agreed.

Dr. D snorted. “Yeah, about as easy as skating across a sand dune.”

“The juviehalls so that, I've seen them!” Kobra retorted.

“That don’t make it easy.”

“Whatever! It’s a plan.” Kobra leaned back in his seat, scowling slightly. “Ugh. Next time I have dibs on the front seat.”

“Oh, hell no. Your giraffe legs are gonna sit tight,” said Dr. D. “This place is mine.”

Poison snickered. “Kobra, you never sat in the front anyway, Ghoul did.”

“Well, he isn't here,” Kobra protested.

“He will be soon enough.” 

Kobra started to object, but was interrupted by a snigger from Decaydance. “Are you guys always like this?”

“No,” Dr. D mumbled. “They're usually worse.”

Kobra thumped the back of Dr. D’s headrest, sparking a new round of banter that seemed to last for miles. They argued back and forth, knowing it was all in good fun, until the chatter died down and they focused on scanning the desert around them for familiar faces. The car continued to speed along the road, sparse cacti and brush whipping past. It was hot and cramped, but with the windows rolled down, Party Poison felt… limitless. Free. He had his brother back, he had new kids to corrupt, he had a _mission._ He had something to fight for.

This, he thought, was how things were meant to be. Adrenaline and fire and red-hot feelings. Sometimes he wondered how people in the city could call themselves alive. They wandered, zombie-like, without a hope or desire to call their own. They had nothing. They were taught to fear the killjoys, but in reality, they grew to fear the only people who could be their saviors. They feared to be more than an empty shell.

It was sad.

And it was a fate Poison would never, ever leave someone he loved to suffer. He was going to find the girl and get her out of there. He cursed himself for being so careless. If he hadn't got himself shot, she wouldn't have been left alone.

But now he had the chance to make up for lost time.

“You good?” Kobra murmured.

“Yeah,” Poison replied. “I’m good, just thinking.”

But he was so much better than good.

He was living.


	5. shut up and sing it with me

Decay plucked at the strings of his bass, determinedly not making eye contact with Maniac. “We can’t do that.”

“Why not?” his friend persisted. “We need a singer, and we need a way to grab people’s attention. We just found the best fucking singer the zones have ever seen. He seems like a good guy, why not just give it a shot?”

“Because we aren’t his band!” said Decay. “Look. He has a lot going on right now, stuff that’s more important than our music. He needs to find his friends and get his own crew back together. Asking him to play with us would just be… weird. We don’t even know him. He belongs with the Fabulous Killjoys, not whoever we are.”

Maniac sighed. “Do you not understand how badass it would be to be in a band with Party Poison?”

“How could I not? I’m as excited as you are, dude, I’m just trying to be respectful.” Decay leaned back in his chair and began aimlessly strumming at his bass once more, signaling the end of their discussion. 

Benzedrine took pity on Maniac. “I know it would be really awesome,” he said. “Like, super awesome, but we just can’t ask something like that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Maniac gestured in agitation. “I’m just getting frustrated because every singer in the goddamn desert crawled under a rock or something.”

“We’re all impatient. Complaining isn’t going to solve anything.” Benzedrine reached out for Maniac’s guitar. “Can I see this for a second?” Maniac nodded and handed it over.

Benzedrine had yet to acquire an instrument of his own, so whenever he and Maniac wrote songs in tandem, they passed it back and forth while Decay worked on basslines and lyrics in the background. It was odd to be writing with a group, a purpose. In the past, he had scribbled down one-liners and poems just for the sake of releasing creative energy, or to make something casual at most. Now, there was more pressure. He was writing as the voice of the desert. He was making something real.

And he was pretty sure he liked it.

The three had set up a temporary working space in Dr. Death Defying’s studio. He let them stay as long as they wanted, as long as they didn’t interrupt his broadcasts. Decay suspected that he’d make them cough up some sort of payment sooner or later, but it was a nice gesture until then. The room they had set up in had decently thick walls, which kept out the noise as they practiced, and the security of the station meant they were free to play as loud as they wanted without attracting the wrong sort of attention. It was better than anything they could’ve come up with by themselves.

“How about something like this?” Benzedrine said, his tongue poking out as he maneuvered through a set of tricky chords. Decay let out a low whistle.

“You just keep crankin’ ‘em out, don’t you? That must’ve been the twentieth riff you’ve made up on the spot, and each one’s better than the last.”

Benzedrine blushed slightly. “They’re not _that_ good.”

“I beg to differ,” said a voice from outside. The door swung open, and Decay jumped when he looked up and saw Party Poison grinning at them. 

“Oh! How long have you been there?” Benzedrine asked, startled.

“Long enough,” Poison said casually. “You’re a damn good songwriter, you know that?”

“I, um,” Benzedrine stammered. “You really think so?”

“Duh. But from what I hear, you’re a better singer.” Poison raised his eyebrows. “You don’t need me to play with you, and yes, before you ask, I heard that little argument. I’m flattered, but according to Dr. D, you’ve got some impressive pipes of your own. And he doesn’t give compliments lightly.”

“Uh, thank you. Very much. Or thank him, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me, just show me what you’ve got.” Poison closed the door behind him and sat down on the floor beside Decaydance. “Have you guys finished any music yet?”

“Not really,” Maniac answered. “We’ve got some good ideas, though.”

“Lay ‘em on me.”

Maniac’s eyes widened. “Like, right now?”

“With me singing?” Benzedrine added, looking slightly nervous.

Poison nodded. “It doesn’t have to be good. Just give me a taste of… What are you guys called?”

“We haven’t really gotten there yet,” Benzedrine said sheepishly. “I was going to be the drummer, so we were waiting to get a singer before we named ourselves.”

“Gotcha. Now,” Poison pointed to the three of them, “show me your stuff.”

Decay fumbled to plug in his bass, and Maniac readied his guitar. They glanced back and forth, neither wanting to be the first to play. Decay finally picked out a note, and Maniac began the intro melody. Benzedrine took a deep breath, hummed to himself a moment, and sang.

_”I need more dreams and less life…_

_”I need that dark in a little more light._

_”I cried tears you’ll never see, so fuck you, you can go cry me an ocean and leave me be!”_

His voice wavered slightly, but the betrayal of his nerves did nothing to obscure the talent that rang true with every note. Every shift in pitch, every sound, they were all perfect. Decay smiled as he worked away at the bassline. The only other time he had heard Benzedrine sing was from behind a closed door, and even then, he suspected that he had stumbled upon something great. Now, it was clear to see that the killjoy before him was nothing if not fucking gifted.

_”You are what you love, not who loves you… In a world full of the word yes, I’m here to scream--”_

“Stop,” said Poison, holding up a hand. Benzedrine’s mouth snapped shut, and he looked away quickly.

“Sorry, was that too much? I’m more of a drummer--”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Poison demanded. “You’re not the drummer. You are not drumming for this band, kid, you were fucking born to be a singer. Can you even hear yourself? You sound awesome, and those lyrics were, too. You guys are going to be the shiniest bitches on the block when you release this stuff.”

“Oh.” Benzedrine’s eyes widened. “Oh! Thank you.”

“You need a drummer.” Poison tapped his fingers on the floor, lost in thought. “I don't know how many of my old contacts are still around, but I can definitely put in a good word for you with whoever you need.”

“Dr. D said he’d put out a message on air,” said Maniac. “It probably won't get answered, though…”

Poison shrugged. “You never know. Speaking of, he’s about to start broadcasting. Want to go listen?”

Decay set his bass to the side and stood up. “Sure.” His fingertips ached slightly as he turned the door handle and let the others file out. He’d need to build up his callouses again. That wouldn't take too long, but it had been years since he’d played this much, and he needed to get back his old touch.

Decay led the way through the narrow halls of the station towards the broadcasting area. The electric lights hummed and flickered overhead as they moved, throwing shadows across the walls. Any non-killjoy might find it eerie. Decay found it comforting. Much better than the stark, bright lights of Battery City.

As they entered Dr. D’s room, a sign that read “on air” blinked on. He gave them a nod. Kobra Kid sat beside him, and pulled up a few extra chairs for them to join. 

“Welcome, ladies, gents, and all in between, to WKIL, home of the slaughtermatic sounds. This is Dr. Death Defying as always, broadcasting live directly to the sweet ears of the desert. I’ll be your canary in the coal mine, your storyteller in the sand, and listeners, do I have a good story for you tonight.” He motioned for Decay, Benzedrine, Maniac and Poison to come sit down.

“It’s been quiet lately. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that gets up into your head and makes you feel dead. But I’ve got a couple crazy crash queens over here who’ll make you feel alive again. They’re here to blow out all that silence through a speaker and make some noise! I’m sure some of you are familiar with Decaydance, or maybe Trohmaniac and Benzedrine? Why don’t you boys introduce yourselves to anyone who doesn't know your name.” Dr. D pointed his microphone to Decaydance.

“You didn't say anything about taking us on air,” Decay muttered.

Dr. D laughed. “Well, we need something to spice up this show once in a while. Even the diehards would get a little tired of this old man talking at them. Now, introduce yourself.”

“Uh, hi,” said Decay. “I’m Decaydance.” He shook his head. “I dunno what else to say.”

“Hearing your voice is enough. Gives the listeners something to recognize you by.” Dr. D gave the mic to Maniac.

“What's up, guys, it's Trohmaniac.”

Benzedrine took the mic next. “Hi,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to be here on air with you.”

“Kiss ass much?” Decay said, amused.

“And why _are_ you kids here?” Dr. D asked Benzedrine. “What have you got to say?”

Decay pointed questioningly at Poison, and Dr. D paused. After a long moment, he shook his head. “Not yet,” he mouthed. Decay nodded in understanding. While they had the privilege of knowing Poison and Kobra had been, well, resurrected, it was just that: a privilege. It had only been by accident that they found out. They would keep the secret until the time was right.

Benzedrine answered Dr. D’s question with a smile. “We’re started a band.”

“A band?” Dr. D crowed, as if he hadn’t already known the answer. “You don’t say. We haven’t had a new band around here in… Well, I seem to have forgotten. What’ll you be calling yourselves?”

“We don’t know yet,” Benzedrine admitted. “The problem is that we’re incomplete. We don’t have a drummer yet.”

“Oh, don’t you?” Dr. D purred. “I’m sure some of you listeners out there still have the rhythm in your bones… A tempo that you can’t keep contained… You all do. It’s in your blood…” His voice trailed off. He stared directly into the microphone, as if he could see the faces of the zonerunners on the receiving end of his transmission. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. 

“You good?” Poison whispered, careful not to let the mic pick up his voice.

Dr. D was silent.

His face shifted, then: “You know what?” he muttered. “I’m done. I’m done talking around this.”

He leaned in closer to the mic.

This time, his voice was not playful, not excited. It was powerful and righteous. It was the frustration at his fellow killjoys, at BLI, the anger at everything he couldn’t control that he had not put voice to for years, and damn if Decay wasn’t a little scared watching it all pour out. Knowing that he and his friends had been the spark to light this fire.  
“By taking up residence in this godforsaken wasteland, you made a choice. You made a _decision._ No, you wouldn’t take BLI’s restrictions, not anymore. You wanted to be free. You wanted to let your heart beat as loud as it possibly could, get high off adrenaline and hear that beat pumping through your very _soul!_ And then you turned your back, tell me, why would you turn back? I’ve wondered for so long. But I’m done wondering. If you can’t see it yourself, I will _show you_ what you are missing.” Dr. D scowled. Kobra laid a hand on his shoulder, but the DJ shook him off.

“For three years, I’ve been the lone voice of this place. You all turned your back on the spirit that made being a killjoy worth it. Hell, you shouldn’t even call yourselves killjoys, not when you’ve left behind what it means to be one. Do you think anyone would have left Bat City if it wasn’t worth it? If the feeling of freedom wasn’t something they’d risk it all for? If it was something they’d abandon the second their leader got pixelated? No. The first killjoys rebelled because it _meant something._ Now, tell me why no one is acting like it matters anymore.

“I’ve been too quiet for too long. Subtle words were never enough… you desert rats have never responded to subtlety. You need explosions and fireworks and gunfire to light your path. See, even now, that much is still true. You’ve still got traces of that spirit within you. You just need something to draw it out… The right match to set you aflame, the right voice to call your name, the right way to show you that things can and never will be the same. They can be _better_ , if you only let them. Let us be your spark.”

Dr. D pointed to the corner of the room, and Poison and Kobra lept up, seeming to instantly grasp his intent. Leaning against the wall were a guitar and bass, presumably from an earlier practice session. Decay wished he could have been around to hear it. 

But now, maybe he could hear something better. A performance.

He guessed the time was right, after all.

“Ladies, gentleman, and tumbleweeds of all kinds, it’s time for a show,” Dr. Death Defying announced. “There’s a few people we’ve been missing.” Poison ripped out a power chord. “There’s a certain four we can’t ignore.” Kobra thrummed his bass, and though Decay had kept a good handle on himself until that moment, now he was so excited he could barely breathe.

“You thought the age of the Fabulous Killjoys was over. But let me tell you, you have never been been more mistaken in your goddamn lives,” Dr. D growled. He reached beneath his desk and tossed two headsets to Poison and Kobra, who slipped them on. “You ready?”

Poison nodded.

“Take it away!”

Poison’s fingers danced across the fret board, and while Decay knew Jet Star was the one who belonged on guitar, the music bursting forth sounded more beautiful than anything he’d ever heard. 

_”One, two, three, four!”_

Dr. D held up the mic to Decay, Benzedrine, and Maniac for them to join in as Poison screamed out the opening chorus to _Na Na Na_. 

_”The future is bulletproof!_ ” Dr. D shouted. “ _The aftermath is secondary! It’s time to do it now and do it loud… The Fabulous Killjoys are back to make some fucking noise!_ ”

Triumph and joy shone in his eyes. As Decay sang along, he thought he felt the very same emotions swelling up in his chest, burning through his heart and breaking free in the form of music; passionate, loud, uncontrollable music. It suddenly occurred to him that this was what it had been like, before the Fab Four got ghosted. Only it hadn’t been a special event. It was like this _all the time._ He had been a kid then, old enough to be a part of it, but not like this. He remembered it being amazing. He remembered having the time of his life, but this… this was indescribable. All the old feelings came rushing back, but a thousand times better. 

His smile was so wide his cheeks were beginning to ache. His throat was already raw from screaming out lyrics, but it was a good pain. The pain was what made it beautiful. You wouldn’t get something like this back in Bat City! He laughed; a wild laugh made of pure excitement and crazed joy. Before long, Benzedrine and Maniac were laughing with him, and as the song wrapped up, they collapsed into giggles.

Poison struck the last note and let it hang in the air. The boys quieted themselves as it rang into silence.

“Hope you all enjoyed that,” Poison said into his microphone. He ducked his head, but nothing could conceal the wide smile plastered across his face. “I don’t know if anybody will believe we’re back, but hey, there’s our best shot. Hope you still remember my voice. This has been Party Poison and Kobra Kid live on WKIL. Remember, those kids still need a drummer!”

Dr. D flipped a switch, and the “on air” sign went dead.

“Well, that didn’t go according to plan,” Benzedrine said, impressed.

“I was gonna snap eventually,” Dr. D said with a shrug. “Why not now? If the Fabulous Killjoys are coming back, that’s a sign for the rest of us to come back too. It wasn’t just the people out there who were missing something. I think we all were. I was.” He smiled. “But don’t you worry. It’s back now.”

“We need Jet back,” Kobra complained. “You suck at guitar compared to him.”

“True,” Poison agreed. “Besides, his fans will be up in arms if we take too long getting him back.”

As if to prove his point, Dr. D’s phone began ringing. He groaned. The ringing didn’t stop.

“Well, that won’t let up for the next few days,” he muttered. “Time to lay low a while.” 

Kobra Kid sighed, a soft smile playing at his lips. “That was really fun. It feels like no time has passed since we last did that, but at the same time, it feels like it’s been forever.”

“We’ve got to make up for that lost time. From now on, this desert will know no peace!” Poison laughed. 

“Or at least my station won’t,” Dr. D grumbled. He glared at the still-ringing phone.

“Aw, don’t be grumpy,” said Decay, grinning. “That warmed your sentimental old heart just as much as ours, and we all know it.”

Dr. Death Defying didn’t respond, but Decay thought he saw a smile flit across the DJ’s face. 

“It certainly did something.”


	6. we're taking back control

Poison wasn’t surprised to see Dr. Death Defying by the side of his bed when his eyes fluttered open. He yawned, not bothering to sit up before slurring: “Mornin’. Have the fans invaded yet?”

“Not yet. Most people still think I faked your broadcast somehow, it’ll be a while before the real hype begins.” Dr. D paused, waiting for him to get up. Poison groaned and propped himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“So, what are we doing today, then?”

“The kids’ll be hanging around the studio, they can hold it down while we go out.”

Poison straightened up. “We’re leaving the studio? I thought you said we had to lay low a while.”

Dr. D shook his head. “We won’t be going out too far. Don’t get your hopes up, we can’t look for Jet and Ghoul until it’s safe. No, we’re on a different mission today.” 

Poison frowned. “Safe? Fans are crazy, but they aren’t dangerous, D.”

“I’m not talkin’ about fans,” Dr. D said darkly. “I told you, there are people these days who are crazy in the worst kind of way, and they don’t like you. Not one bit. We’re lucky most people don’t believe you’re back yet, or we’d have a lot less time to prepare for the fallout.”

Poison fell silent. “So… I’ve got enemies now.”

“Don’t be cocky, you know you always have. The number hasn’t gone up by too much, luckily, but the new ones are dangerous motherfuckers. The worst goes by Val Velocity. The rest are his followers.” Dr. D snorted. “The punk dyed his hair red, you know that? Said he was ‘taking your color.’ When that kid isn’t shooting, he’s shooting off at the mouth. The desert never used to have folks like him.”

“Jeez. I hate him already.” Poison made a face. “But if we aren’t looking for the others, where are we going?”

Dr. D scoffed. “You were smarter before you died. Where do you think, genius? We’re going to see Cherri.”

Poison’s eyes widened. “Shit, I totally forgot.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the back of Dr. D’s wheelchair to push him out of the room. “Let’s go!”

“Now, hold on just a minute,” Dr. D said crossly. “I’ve got to give the kids the lowdown, and we aren’t leaving without your brother.”

“Oh, right. Where are they?”

“Kobra’s working on some project or another. I left him in the broadcasting room after the morning static. The kids are in the studio, most likely.”

“They’re practicing this early?” Poison said, surprised. “That’s dedication.”

Dr. D laughed. “Poison, it’s noon. You crashed harder than a scarecrow on skates last night.”

“Oh.” Poison wheeled Dr. D in the direction of the recording studio, blushing as the DJ laughed at him. “Shut up!” He stopped outside the studio door and knocked. After a moment, the door swung open, and Poison was greeted by Decaydance.

“Mornin’. Benzedrine was betting you’d be up before eleven, he owes me ten carbons now. Thanks for that.”

Party Poison rolled his eyes. “You’ll learn to appreciate an uninterrupted crash session, kid. Me and Dr. D are heading out to see a friend, we need you to hold down the fort while we’re gone. Simple job. Just don’t leave and don’t let anyone in, and you should be fine.”

“And no trashing my station,” Dr. D added. “I don’t want you holdin’ any fashion floods while I’m gone.”

Decay wiggled his eyebrows. “You got it.” He pulled the door half-closed before loudly asking his friends, “Hey, want to throw a party?” One of them responded something that was unintelligible through the thick door, and Decay pulled it fully closed.

“They’ll be fine,” Poison said confidently.

“I know they will,” said Dr. D. “It’s Kobra we should be worrying about-- I’m not sure if Cherri’s more likely to kiss him or kill him.”

Poison only smiled, pushing Dr. D’s chair back to the broadcasting room. He couldn’t wait to get back outside. He loved the station, of course; it was his second home, after the diner. But no place indoors could compare to the feeling of the sun’s rays on bare skin. The desert had a warmth, a spirit that came alive once you stepped out into it. 

And seeing Cherri Cola would certainly be an experience. Poison remembered their last conversation with a twinge of regret. The last words they’d exchanged had been angry, fueled by frustration and the heat of an argument. It was just after the Girl had been kidnapped… While the Four left on their rescue mission, he stayed behind, saying it was too dangerous, that they’d all be killed.

He was right, of course.

According to Dr. D, Cherri had beaten himself up after the Fab Four were dusted, and Poison could imagine his torment all too well. No one deserved to live with that type of survivor’s guilt. But this was his chance to apologize.

And after that ordeal was over, it would be fucking awesome to hang out with him again.

“Kobra!” Poison called into the broadcasting room. “Time to visit our favorite fruit soda!” There was the clatter of a tool being dropped, and Kobra Kid came rushing out of the room.

“Finally,” he grumbled. “We’ve been waiting all day for you.”

“Just wake me up next time.” Poison clapped a hand to Kobra’s shoulder. The gesture was casual, but it gave him the chance to look his brother over. Kobra had always been closer to Cherri than he was, and he could only imagine the mess of feelings that reuniting them would bring about. “You ready?”

Kobra’s sunglasses were on, so Poison couldn’t tell if he made eye contact, but his nod was strong enough to be believed. “Let’s go.”

Before they headed for the surface, they checked the security feeds to make sure no one was waiting at the entrance to ambush them. Luckily, Dr. D’s station was well hidden, and they were able to make it out safely. They snuck out to where the cars were kept without detection. Poison glanced at the Trans Am and sighed.

“We can’t take it, can we.”

“If we took that thing, we’d have dracs on our asses faster than you can say _stupid._ No, we’re taking that one,” said Dr. D, pointing to a plain white van. The lack of color made Poison’s skin itch, but it would help them avoid BLI’s watchful gaze. “If you drive like a madman, I’ll downgrade your ride even further, you hear me?”

Poison climbed into the front seat, grumbling about geezers with sand in the wrong places. Kobra lifted the wheels of Dr. D’s chair and helped him into the back seat, nabbing the passenger’s side before the DJ could complain.

Once they had backed out of Dr. D’s makeshift garage, Poison slapped his hands down on the steering wheel. “And we’re off!”

The van sped onto Route Guano, fast enough for Poison’s hair to whip around after he rolled down the window, but just slow enough that Dr. D’s complaints didn’t grow too severe. He breathed in deeply. Driving a car that wasn’t the Trans Am definitely felt odd, and hiding from the world was worse, but he knew it would be over soon. He would just keep working until everything was back to normal.

Of course, by “working,” he meant causing explosions and singing until his throat hurt, but the two were synonymous in the desert.

That was what made him love it so much. 

***

“So this is where Cherri’s hiding out now,” Kobra said appreciatively. “‘S better than his last place, I’ll give him that.”

“You’d better say it to his face. It’ll take some buttering up before he forgives you for dying,” said Dr. D. Kobra hummed in agreement as he lifted Dr. D’s wheelchair from the back seat and onto the ground. Dr. D slid into it and wheeled his way over to the run-down store that Cherri operated from. 

He didn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open. “Cherri!” he called. “I’ve got some visitors for you that you just might--”

Cherri nearly crashed into Dr. D in his haste. “Dr. D! I heard the show last night, I didn’t know--” He laid eyes on Kobra Kid, standing several feet away, and his jaw dropped.

“Kobra?”

“Surprised to see me?” Kobra smiled. “Jeez, a guy can’t suddenly reappear from the dead these days without getting swarmed.”

Cherri ran over to wrap his arms around Kobra Kid, not bothering to hide the shakiness of his breath as he squeezed. “I didn’t know whether or not to believe it. You were dead. I remember…” He pulled away, wiping his eyes quickly before looking at Kobra. “I owe my thanks to the Witch or whoever made it possible for you to be here, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you’re _here._ Where are the others?”

Poison stepped inside, holding out his arms for Cherri to fall into. 

“Aw, you big sap,” Poison teased. “Don’t worry. I missed you, too.”

Cherri laughed. The smile on his face was wide with relief and infectious as they come. “I can’t believe it. You were gone, and I was… I’m just… ” Poison could already see the tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, stop it,” Kobra said. “No self-blame, okay? You literally just said the only thing that matters is that we’re here.”

“I know, but… I never let it go. I never thought I’d have the chance to apologize,” Cherri muttered. “I just kept wondering, if I could’ve been there…”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” said Poison. “We headed into that fight with no plan and no backup. We were crazy outnumbered. Even with your skills, we would’ve lost. It’s a good thing you weren’t there.” He patted Cherri on the shoulder. “The desert would’ve been a sad, sad place without Cherri Cola.”

“They were a sad place without _you,_ ” Cherri said seriously. “I hope you’re going to do something about the mood out here, because I can barely stand it.”

“Trust me, we are.” Poison frowned. “Dr. D made the whole thing sound super depressing. I mean, no concerts? What the fuck?”

“I know. But now that you’re back, things can change.” Cherri hesitated. “I… haven’t fired a zap since what happened, but if you want my help, I’m always here.”

“Of course we want you,” said Kobra, wrapping his arm around Cherri’s shoulder. “Not only are you the best shot in the Zones, you’re our best friend. Forget about help, dude, you should come hang out with us.”

Cherri flushed. “Thank you… But you’ve just reminded me. Where are Jet Star and Fun Ghoul?”

Poison grimaced. “Still missing. We were planning on searching some more later today, want to come?”

“Absolutely,” Cherri said, while Dr. Death Defying said, “Don’t you dare.”

Cherri looked at him curiously. “Why not?”

“Because, in case you had forgotten, Val Velocity is out there parading around like he owns the Zones,” Dr. D said, pointing a stern finger at Cherri. “And if he gets a good look at Poison, he’ll be after his blood.”

“That’s true,” Cherri conceded. “How long will we be hiding out?”

“You guys seem scared of this Velocity guy,” Poison said crossly. “Since when do you let some douche boss you around?”

“Since the douche went around killing innocents and calling it ‘the new cool,’” Dr. D growled. Poison raised his eyebrows.

“Well, shit. I guess we’ll have to make sure we aren’t innocent.”

“Party Poison, you must have come back specifically for the purpose of haunting me, because you sure do like to make my life difficult,” Dr. D snapped. “I’m not going to let you get back out there to risk your life all over again.”

“Being a killjoy means risking your life,” Poison argued. “It’s part of the lifestyle, D. You’ve got no problem with me going out with scarecrows on my tail. BLI have never been the only bad people in the world, one specific asshole shouldn’t make a difference.”

“Besides, if we really do have enemies out there, we need to find Jet and Ghoul before they do,” said Kobra. 

Dr. D glared at both of them. “I really hate you two sometimes.”

“You love us, though,” Poison laughed.

“Yes, I do, but the fact remains.”

“Awww, you sap!” Poison squealed. He wrapped his arms around Dr. D, Kobra following suit, and Cherri finally joining them in a giant group hug. Dr. D groaned and attempted to push them away, but eventually relented.

“Let’s go and find your friends,” he grumbled. “They’d never let you act like this.”

“They would,” Kobra sad confidently. “They like annoying you just as much as we do.”

“And that’s why we’re a happy family,” said Poison, patting Dr. D on the head. He was swatted away, but through the banter and playful insults, he knew it was true.

***

Having Cherri in the van made it feel a little less empty. It wasn’t like having Jet and Ghoul back, but it was better than nothing. Poison was confident that they would find the others soon. They had worked their way through the first three Zones, and now all they had to do was search the last ones. 

They cruised through Zone Four with all their eyes on the desert, even Poison, who probably should have been paying attention to the road. 

“We need more roads out here,” Kobra muttered. “Route Guano’s good, but it doesn’t cover enough ground.”

“We can drive out into the wastes if we need to, but it’s way better to stick to pavement,” Poison agreed.

Dr. D rolled his eyes. “Take it up with BLI. I’m sure they’ll take our needs into account.”

“Oh, sure. We’ll get a petition, have all the zone rats sign it. They can’t ignore the power of the people!” 

“Keep your eyes on the damn road, kid, or you’ll be driving off the only one we’re lucky enough to have.”

Poison complied, adjusting the wheel a bit to keep the van speeding through the correct lane. He watched where he was driving for a few minutes before he thought it safe to start looking out the window again. Boulders and cacti whizzed by, the spacial language of the Zones forming a constant pattern of sun and sand. Poison thought he could hear music even over the roar of the engine and the wind blowing by. You could almost never find a place that was truly silent in Zone Four. There was always something; music, explosions, or… was that gunfire he heard?

“Van ahead,” Cherri said suddenly. “Watch out, that looks like a firefight.”

Poison hit the brakes, and the car lurched to a halt. Up ahead was a set of blank white BLI vans. They hadn’t noticed the killjoys, but something else certainly had their attention. Poison could see dracs scurrying about, waving their guns around, and… was that a scarecrow?

“What’s a ‘crow doing out here?” he murmured. “They don’t usually come out this far, do they?”

“Nope,” said Dr. D, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s check it out, but go slowly. Don’t let them catch sight of us too quick.”

Poison let up on the brakes and slowly pressed down on the gas. The van crawled forward towards the battle. As they grew closer, the sound of zaps firing became even clearer. He could make out at least five dracs, with about the same amount already on the ground. The lone scarecrow was hanging back, wary of something. But who, or what, were they fighting?

“Hey,” Kobra breathed. “I think I know something out here that’s worth a scarecrow’s time.”

“What?” asked Poison.

Kobra grabbed his shoulder. _”Us.”_

It took a second for Poison to grasp his meaning. The moment he did, he slammed the gas pedal to the floor and craned his neck out the window. The dracs scattered once they saw the van coming, hopping back into their own and peeling off. 

The scarecrow turned around just in time for Jet Star to shoot it full in the face.

_”Jet!”_ Kobra screamed out the window. Jet Star looked up, and Poison had to laugh at the look of shock on his face. He drove the van as close as he could before throwing the door open and running to his friend.

“Poison! Kobra? Guys, what happened?” Jet Star yelled, sounding more excited than confused. He pulled them both into a tight hug. “How did I get here? Man, I just woke up and I was on the ground, and you were gone and there were dracs everywhere--”

“But you handled ‘em all right, huh? How about that scarecrow? Right in the fuckin’ _face!_ ” Poison cheered. 

“Seriously, though,” said Jet, calming down a little. “What happened?”

Poison and Kobra shared a look. “Who’s gonna say it?” asked Kobra.

They turned to Jet. “We died,” they said unison.

“But not for good, obviously,” Poison added. “You’ve got a lot to get caught up on.”

“And you’re going to have to wait to do it!” Dr. D called from the van. “Kobra Kid might have been all right with the run-and-go approach, but Jet just finished giving a good old fashioned beatdown. Give the guy a chance to rest before you shake him up again.”

“Fine,” Poison pouted. “We’ll get you caught up when we’re back to the station.”

Jet Star looked bemused, but he knew better than to ask too many questions too soon. He piled into the back seat of the van, nodding to Cherri and Dr. D. “Good to see you two. It feels like ages since we last saw each other…” He frowned. “Uh, how long has it been, exactly?”

“About three years,” Dr. D said casually. Jet Star’s eyes went wide with alarm.

“Are-- are you kidding me? So, not only are you saying that I died, but I died for _three years_?”

“Wait until we’re back,” Dr. D reminded him. “Then we’ll tell you everything.”

“Must be one hell of a story,” said Jet. He seemed much less content to wait than he had a moment ago. 

“Oh, trust me,” Poison smiled. “It is. And it’s only just beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some news! As you can see I renamed this fic and, instead of making it one long story, I've decided to split it up into a series. This fic will probably have ten chapters.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. this ain't about all the friends you made

“Yes, _yes!_ ” Benzedrine said excitedly. “That’s so shiny!”

Decay swallowed a laugh. It sounded a little odd every time Benzedrine used desert slang-- like his tongue wasn’t quite accustomed to it. He was trying his best, but he still had a certain vibe that felt a little out of place. A certain… innocence. 

Usually, city-born that came into the desert were more wary than any zone rat. They had heard so many rumors of what went on in the zones, blown out of proportion by gossip and third-hand accounts, that they thought a single wrong move would get them dusted. Sometimes it was a valid fear, but most of the time it just made them paranoid. But not Benzedrine.

Everything the typical city-born would shy away from, he embraced. Everything that should have scared him only excited him. Perhaps he didn’t understand that the Zones really _could_ be dangerous. If that was the case, then Decay would have to give him a talk about the difference between hope and naivete. 

But until then, Decay would just keep laughing as Benzedrine stumbled over slang, because it was hilarious and a little bit adorable.

“You really think so?” asked Maniac. “I thought the timing was a little off.”

The trio had cranked out a shocking amount of music once Poison, Kobra and Dr. D had left, and they had moved on to practicing once the songs were completed. Benzedrine had finally shed some of his stage fright. Poison’s compliment must have encouraged him; he sang louder now, and was willing to exercise more of his range. The first time he switched into a falsetto, Decay had actually gasped.

Together, the three of them sounded amazing. 

“Try it again if you want, but I thought it sounded good,” Decay shrugged. “I think we should just keep going.”

Maniac nodded and pulled out a sheet of paper. Scribbled all over it were half-finished verses and chord progressions. Decay had written most of the lyrics, and it showed; his handwriting was the messiest by far. Maniac had written in a fair amount himself, though, and occasionally contributed to Benzedrine’s seemingly endless list of sample melodies.

“Do you want to take a break?” he asked. “I think we’re at a good stopping point. And I’m fucking starving.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Decay’s stomach growled at the thought of food. They had been practicing for hours, and lunchtime had come and gone without notice. He set his bass carefully on the ground and went to open the door.

It felt a little odd to be in the station alone. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling-- Decay stayed with Dr. D fairly often, and had been trusted to guard the place once or twice. But the vast majority of the time, Dr. D was there somewhere, wheeling around or blabbing into his microphone. It felt especially empty without Poison and Kobra. Those two had a pair of the biggest personalities Decay had ever seen, and even though they had only been around for a day, it was strange to walk down the hall without hearing at least one of of their voices.

Decay led Maniac and Benzedrine into the kitchen and promptly began raiding the fridge. There were a few cans of Power Pup, some water, some bread, and not much else. He eyed the bread with longing, but settled for the Power Pup. Dr. D was nice enough to give them a place to sleep and record, the least they could do was leave the good food for him.

Maniac took a can and popped it open, Decay doing the same. He made a face at the smell, but in a battle between his stomach and his taste buds, his stomach won. He was shoveling a spork full of chow into his mouth when he set eyes on Benzedrine and nearly choked with laughter.

Benzedrine glared at him. “You shut up.” He tugged at the tab on the top of the can, but still couldn’t lift it. His nails weren’t strong enough to wrench it open. It did take practice-- Power Pup cans were sturdy, probably an attempt by BLI to keep killjoys from going after it. But most killjoys mastered it after living on the stuff for a while.

“You've been here for a year, dude, how do you not know how to do this?” Decay took the can from Benzedrine and squeezed it in just the right way to pop the tab open. Benzedrine accepted it, but refused to make eye contact as he stuck his spork into the can. Decay thought he saw a trace of a blush.

For a minute, they ate in silence. Decay hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating. He filled up relatively quickly, but snorted at how Maniac’s stomach continued to rumble.

“Dude, how much did you smoke this morning? D’s gonna be pissed if you eat more than your share.”

Maniac shrugged. “That’s not me, man. I’m sober.”

They looked at Benzedrine, who shook his head. 

“Okay,” said Maniac, suspicious. “If that isn’t us, then what the fuck is it?”

For a moment, Decay was still. Then he jumped up and ran for the security cameras. Maniac and Benzedrine were hot on his heels, and they skidded to a halt beside him when he reached the computer that displayed the station’s security footage.

The grainy video showed someone standing outside the front door. Every few seconds, he knocked, the sound echoing against the metal.

“You thought that was _me?”_ said Maniac, a little insulted.

“You’ll see what I mean the next time you get the munchies,” said Decay, rolling his eyes. “But seriously. Who the hell is that?”

“Dr. D said not to let anybody in,” Benzedrine said. He squinted at the footage. “He was scared of people coming for Poison, right?” 

“That doesn’t look like a fan to me,” said Maniac. “Or an enemy.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Benzedrine.

Decay had to agree with Maniac. Upon further inspection, the boy standing before the door was just that: a boy. He couldn’t have been any older than them. His knocking was, for lack of a better word, polite. A few sharp raps of his knuckles, wait a few seconds, repeat.

“So, who is he?” Decay murmured.

The boy looked up and seemed to notice the security camera for the first time. He looked directly into it and waved, saying something inaudible.

“Does this thing have audio?” Decay asked. “Turn it on.”

Maniac turned a dial, and the sound crackled to life just in time to hear a high-pitched voice say “...heard you needed a drummer?”

Benzedrine groaned. “We can’t let him in. You know we can’t let him in, they told us _nobody_ \--”

Decay was already running for the stairs. 

Upon reaching the top, he fumbled with the locks attached to the door until he could fling it open. The boy outside looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to answer.

“Hi,” Decay greeted him. “I’m Decaydance.”

“Double-Edge,” the boy said slowly. “It was you I heard on the radio last night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Decay gave the kid a once-over, and was a little impressed to see him doing the same. He was short, like Decay, and already covered in tattoos despite his youthful looks, with a lip piercing and jaw-length hair. The look screamed _desert-born_ \-- Zone Two, maybe, or Three. If appearances equated to skill, Decay would accept him on the spot.

But he had to be tested properly. 

“Come on in.” He beckoned the kid inside and swung the door shut behind them with a _clang._

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Benzedrine demanded from the bottom of the stairs. Decay slowly turned to face him. 

“Just, uh, inviting in our applicant?”

Benzedrine crossed his arms over his chest, and Decay would laugh if he wasn’t a little bit intimidated.

“Dr. D said not to let anyone inside,” he accused. “He’s trusting us.”

“Look, I’m sure it’s no big deal,” Decay said soothingly. “We’ll just let him audition,” he pointed to Double-Edge, “and then he can either stay or go, depending.”

Benzedrine frowned. “We can’t just let him stay with us, no matter how good a drummer he may be.”

Double-Edge watched with thinly veiled discomfort. “Should I just go? I can always come back later… Or not.”

“No!” Decay said firmly. “No, now is fine. My friend over here is just being paranoid.” He shot a warning look at Benzedrine. “Why don’t you two get acquainted?”

Maniac wandered over, took one look at the scene, and retreated. “I’m too sober for this,” he muttered.

Benzedrine sighed, and finally stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Benzedrine. Welcome to our dysfunctional not-quite-band.” Double-Edge shyly grasped his hand. 

“I’m Double-Edge.”

“Nice name.” From anyone else Decay would have called it passive aggression, but he didn’t think Benzedrine was capable of such a thing, even under the present circumstances. 

Double-Edge shrugged. “I chose it when I was pretty young. It comes from straightedge, y’know? You can just call me Double if you want.”

“Uh,” Maniac said from across the room. “Is this gonna bother you?” He looked to Double-Edge, blue eyes round with concern and a joint sticking from his mouth.

Double laughed. It was more of a giggle, really, with a voice as high as his. “No, that’s fine! Uh… So. Drums? Do you want me to play for you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, totally,” said Decay. “Sorry for just making you stand around.” Benzedrine nodded, and they led Double down the stairs and towards the studio. 

Once they were inside, Benzedrine offered up the drum set. Double cautiously took a seat. “Anything in particular you want me to play, or should I just improv?”

“That depends. What can you play?” Decay asked. 

“Pretty much anything. What sound are you going for?”

Maniac shrugged. “We were thinking about becoming one of the pop-punk crews.”

Double nodded. “Got it. So, more like this, then?” He picked up the drumsticks and beat out a fast, snappy rhythm. A few cymbal crashes, a roll here and there-- he was good. _Really_ good. Better than Benzedrine, if Decay was honest. 

He glanced up at Maniac, then at Benzedrine. “What do you think?” he mouthed. Maniac gave a thumbs up, looking impressed.

“Look, dude,” Decay broke in. Double’s sticks stopped in mid-air. “All we need is a good drummer. But if we get the chance, we aren’t going to settle for just _good._ ” He paused just long enough for Double to look disappointed, then grinned. “So, you’re in. You’re better than any other applicant we might get.”

“You are such an _asshole,_ ” Maniac yelped. “You couldn’t have just said ‘you’re in’?”

“Aww, where’s the fun in that?”

“Guys,” Benzedrine said hesitantly. “What are we going to do about… Well, what will we do when Dr. D gets back?”

Decay took a second to consider this. “Double can stay,” he finally decided. “Dr. D knows me well enough not to put serious issues in my hands, he wouldn't have left us alone if it was a huge deal. He’ll forgive me. And even if he gets mad, he’s got enough manners not to blow up in front of a guest.”

“Are you sure?” Double asked. “I mean, I have other places to stay if you need me to. I can just swing by for practices and stuff.”

“Nah, it’d be better for you to get acquainted with the station family sooner rather than later.” Decay delicately tapped one of the cymbals. “So… You, my friend, are going to meet one half of the Fabulous Killjoys.”

“Decay, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Benzedrine said anxiously. 

“It’ll be fine,” Decay assured him. “Trust me. And if I’m wrong, it’ll be me that takes the fall, not you. Just chill out.”

There came a rumbling noise from upstairs, and they went still.

The noise continued, a pounding sound that echoed from the metal door. Someone was knocking. Maniac let out a nervous giggle. “Oh, shit!”

Decay grimaced, but he wasn’t too worried. “Guess it’s now or never.” He beckoned for Benzedrine and Maniac to follow, but paused at Double. “You wait here, okay? I’ll make sure the air’s clear before I introduce you.” Double nodded, and they headed out without him. 

Decay skimmed over the security footage just long enough to recognize Dr. D at the entrance, then traipsed up to open the door. He worked open each latch and lock to swing it open.

“Surprise!” Poison shouted. He shoved his way inside, dragging someone else behind him.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Maniac said in awe. “Jet Star?”

“Hi,” said Jet, waving awkwardly. Decay took a minute just to stare at him. 

Jet Star was taller than he’d expected. When he was a kid, he’d always seen posters and assumed Jet only looked so tall because he was standing next to Fun Ghoul (the dude was a shrimp, just like Decay). It was an accurate description to say he towered over the kids. It was surely terrifying for any enemies, but not to Decay-- Jet’s poofy hair and goofy smile turned his height into something that felt protective instead of dangerous. 

“They found you?” he asked, finally remembering his voice. “Where?”

“Fighting off a group of black and whites,” Poison said proudly. “You should’ve seen it. It was _awesome._ ”

“Just getting back in the swing of things, right?” said Jet. 

“Hell yeah!”

“Can you do your socializing somewhere that isn’t blocking the door?” Dr. D said pointedly. Decay backed down the stairs so the others could file in. Dr. D left everyone else go in ahead of him, wincing at the stairs. “Go on ahead. This might take a while.” One of them stayed behind to help him with his chair. Cherri Cola, Decay thought. He didn’t know much about Cherri, but he knew that he was a good friend of Dr. D’s, and he came by every so often.

“Pros of this location? No bombs. No invasions. Cons? These goddamn stairs,” Dr. D mumbled, before raising his voice. “Jet! That lift you built way back when broke down, and you’d better fix it before the next time I have to get above ground, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Jet called back. “What happened to it?”

“How should I know? You’re the mechanic.” Dr. D shooed Decay away. “Go control your fanboy friends. Cherri and I have this covered.”

“Um, speaking of friends,” Decay said, coughing into his hand. “We sort of… have a drummer now.” There was no talking around it. Blunt was the only way to go.

Dr. D gave him a look. “Are you telling me that you--”

“Let somebody in after you told me not to? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Believe me, Benzedrine tried to talk me out of it, he’s like my guardian angel. But this kid’s not a threat. He’s like, five foot six. His voice sounds like a butterfly and he’s straightedge, for fuck’s sake. Plus, he kills it on the drums. Just give him a chance before you yell at me. Okay?” 

Dr. D didn't look pleased, but he didn't look as angry as Benzedrine had feared. “He’d better be good, or those drums won't be the only thing getting beat.”

Decay grinned. “Thanks.”

“Are you coming, or what?” Maniac yelled.

Decay stepped down the stairs and walked right past his friends to the studio. “You can come out now,” he said, popping his head in. Double beamed.

“Oh, good.” He followed Decay out into the open and was presented with a flourish.

“Meet our new drummer, Double-Edge!” Decay announced.

“Hi,” Double squeaked. If he had been shy before, in front of the Killjoys, he was like a motorbaby onstage for the first time. 

“Oh yeah, they found Jet too,” Maniac said casually. “Looks like you get to meet more than one half.”

“Looks like we have some catching up to do,” Kobra Kid noted.

Decay dropped right down to the floor. “Why don't you start?” He looked at them expectantly. Maniac rolled his eyes and say next to him, and one by one the others followed suit. 

“We were driving through Zone Four,” Poison began. “And it was quiet, but not too quiet…” 

Decay thought Poison was probably exaggerating some aspects of the story, judging from the way Jet Star huffed with laughter at certain points, but it was definitely entertaining. Double-Edge looked duly impressed. He laughed at all the right moments, and after a while, his tension melted away. He looked just like another member of the crew. Sitting next to Benzedrine and Maniac, he looked… right, somehow.

“Hey,” Decay whispered to Benzedrine. “You excited to practice together? We can name ourselves now.”

“Of course I’m excited,” Benzedrine whispered back. “It’s gonna be milkshakes!”

Decay tried to look as if he was laughing at Poison’s story instead of his friend, but it didn't work very well. Benzedrine flushed, and Decay laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“You're absolutely right, Benz. It’s gonna be shiny as shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i accidentally started writing another killjoy fic,,, i don't know if i should post it in one long oneshot or in chapters, any thoughts? here's a two-word teaser: hesitant alien
> 
> oh also how do you guys feel about decaydance/benzedrine? i don't even ship peterick (in fact i actively dislike it) but im kind of tempted to write it in,,
> 
> (alternate title for this fix: it's not gay if it's in the desert)


	8. king rat on the streets in another life

_The Girl sat, head bowed low, in a white cell. Her chest rose and fell with the faintest of breaths. One might assume her to be asleep, but after a time, she lifted her head and looked out through half-lidded eyes. Her skin, formerly tan from the desert sun, was pale and sickly-looking after years of harsh artificial light. Shadows hung heavy beneath her eyes. Her eyes…_

_She had never exactly been innocent. No one could be, with an upbringing like hers. Battlefields had been her playgrounds since the day she could walk, and she’d learned how to fire a gun before she had learned to dress herself, but she had always had a certain childishness about her. A sparkle in her eye that set her apart from those only a few years older than her. Not innocence, but definitely the closest thing you could get, out there in the zones._

_That sparkle was gone now._

_The blue of her eyes was washed out, faded into a shade of gray that would have fit right into the color scheme of Battery City. Her hope seemed to have dwindled along with the hue. Her expression was vacant, her eyes dull; she was the very picture of a Better Living zombie._

_”Poison?”_

_A bead of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. It grew into a stream and flowed over her lips, the red growing darker and darker as it poured down her chin._

_”Why weren’t you there?”_

Poison woke up shaking. Kobra laid a cautious hand on his shoulder, and Jet Star hovered behind him, looking concerned. 

“You okay?” Kobra asked.

“‘M fine,” Poison muttered. He tried to will away the tremors, but he could still feel himself shiver beneath Kobra’s touch.

“Don’t lie. You were doing that thing where you mumble in your sleep.”

Poison rubbed his hands into his eyes. “Ah, shit. What did I say?”

“Something about the Girl.” Kobra sat down next to him. “What did you dream about?”

“She was…” Poison swallowed. “She was in a cell, somewhere in the city, I think. It wasn’t that bad. There was just… a lot of blood.” 

Kobra and Jet shared an uneasy look. Poison’s dream might have been horrible, but they could very well be a reality, beyond Battery City’s walls. They all knew it. It was no use trying to pretend she was okay. 

Jet sat down next to Kobra. “Remember when we found her?” he asked. It was an obvious attempt to distract Poison, but he wasn’t going to fight it. He almost smiled. 

“How could I not?”

“Cutest little killing machine I ever saw,” Kobra agreed.

_It was a hot day, even for the desert. The sun beat down unforgivingly on the roof of the Trans Am, raising temperatures inside by what felt like twenty degrees. Poison rolled down the window as far as it would go. The wind just felt like hot air whipping around, but at least it was moving._

_”Hey,” Kobra said, squinting out the window. “Am I seeing things, or is there somebody out there?”_

_”Probably just a mirage,” Poison dismissed, but he took a look anyway. To his surprise, there actually was a figure visible. It was small, no taller than four feet, stumbling around the sand wastes. “Shit. Is that a kid?” He hit the brakes and was opening his door before the car had come to a full stop._

_”Hey!” he called out, hurrying to the edge of the road. “Hey, are you lost?”_

_The figure stopped moving as he grew closer. It_ was _a kid, a girl, no older than four or five. Her expression was dazed, as if she could barely see him._

_Jet appeared at Poison’s side with a bottle of water. He passed it to the girl, who looked at it for a second before snatching it and chugging it in twenty seconds flat._

_”Easy there,” Jet laughed. “You’ll make yourself sick.”_

_When the girl looked more coherent, Poison stooped down to her level. “So. Where are you from? Motorbabies shouldn’t be wandering around alone, you must have a family somewhere, right?”_

_She shook her head._

_”A crew? Somebody?”_

_”No,” she whispered._

_Poison looked worriedly at Jet Star. “Well--”_

_”Why don’t you come with us?” Jet interrupted. “We can get you patched up in no time.”_

_Poison smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Jet nodded gratefully. He clearly wanted to help this kid, and Poison would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. No family? That was just plain sad._

_”You got a name?” Ghoul asked. The girl shivered._

_”No. No name.”_

_”You’ll find one,” said Ghoul. “I mean, you're just a girl, and you've already seen some shit, so--” Kobra slapped his shoulder, and he winced. “Sorry, sorry. What I meant to say is, there's a lot of time to find yourself.”_

_Poison rolled his eyes. “She isn't just a girl, Ghoul.” He smiled at her, and her lips tweaked up slightly in response. It was the ghost of a smile, the barest trace of the joyful expression they would eventually come to know and love._

_”You’re_ The _Girl, aren’t you?”_

“We’re going to rescue her,” Kobra said softly. 

Poison swiped a hand across his eyes. “Of course we are. Ghoul, too. What are we waiting for? We should get going.” He grabbed his jacket from the floor and shrugged it on. 

“Wait, wait,” said Jet. “Let’s take the kids with us.”

Poison stopped in the doorway. “Why? They’re busy practicing, aren't they?”

Jet shrugged. “They've been at it for a couple hours already. You didn't take them yesterday, so I figured maybe they could tag along now. They seem cool. Plus, if we get into a fight, it would be a good thing to have more ‘joys on our side.”

Poison’s heart sank. Jet had a point-- they needed all the power they could get. “We shouldn't have let those dracs get away.”

The previous night, Cherri had gone to track down the draculoids Jet had been fighting once he was safe in the station. He didn’t have any luck. They had been quick to make their escape, and had probably already reported the Killjoys’ activity to BLI. Poison had tried not to think about what that meant, but it was unavoidable. They were all in danger now. For most of them, that didn’t mean much, because they could protect each other, but for Fun Ghoul...

“Yeah, that was a dumb move,” Jet admitted. “But we were kind of focused on other things.”

“I know, but we need secrecy right now, and we don’t have it anymore!” Poison snapped. 

“Hey. Chill out.” Kobra squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Since when have we let BLI get in our way?”

“Since Ghoul was wandering around alone!” 

“He can take care of himself until we get there,” Kobra said firmly. “Focus on finding him instead of worrying.”

Poison scowled, determinedly ignoring how his eyes burned as he shoved past Kobra out of the room. How could he not worry? If BLI got to Ghoul before they did, he was dusted all over again. Even worse, they could take advantage of his confusion, they could take him _alive_ instead of killing him, they could torture him, or turn him into another of their zombies. There were so many things they could do, just thinking about it made Poison want to scream.

But no matter how hard it was, Kobra was right. Poison couldn’t waste time freaking out when he should have been out there, doing something productive.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “I’ve got this.” He ran his fingers through his hair, as if he could comb out the stress. “Jet! I’m gonna get the kids, then we’re getting this show on the road.”

“You got it.” Jet peeked out of the bedroom, evaluating Poison’s mood before breaking into a relieved smile. “We’re all good?”

“We’re all good,” Poison confirmed. “You can go ahead and start up the car, I’ll be right back.”

He headed down the hall and quickly came to the studio door. He gave a knock, then waited for someone to answer.

Maniac opened the door. “Who-- oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Do you want to come with me and Kobra and Jet?” Poison asked. “Y’know. Looking for--”

“Fun Ghoul, of course.” Maniac’s face brightened. “That’d be awesome. Let me ask, though.” He leaned back. “Guys! Poison wants us to come on the rescue mission.”

“We’re literally right behind you, we can hear everything you’re saying,” Decay snorted. “Duh, we want to come!”

“Is that even a question that needs asking?” Double wondered aloud. Maniac pointed a threatening finger at him.

“I put up with enough sass from Decaydance, I don’t need you starting on me after one fucking day.” He turned back to Poison. “Sorry about that. Yes, we want to come. When are we leaving?”

“Right now,” said Poison. “Do you all have zaps handy?”

“Yeah, I’ve got mine in my room.” Maniac scooted past Poison into the hall, his friends following to retrieve their own guns. Poison waited for them all to come back before leading them out of the station.

“We’re going out!” he called to Dr. D, knowing that the DJ was around somewhere. “Enjoy the peace and quiet, you probably won’t get another chance at it for a while!”

He unlocked the door for the kids, then secured it behind them once they were outside. The Trans Am’s engine growled nearby. Poison looked out to Route Guano, and there it sat; dirty and painted and beautiful. The best ride in the zones, as far as he was concerned. Kobra and Jet were waiting as Poison hopped inside.

“So. Zones Five and Six?” he asked. They nodded. “There’s no way we’re splitting up, so that’s going to take a few days… We’ll start in Five.” He glanced into the mirror to see the kids sitting in back. “You all ready?” 

“I was born ready,” Maniac declared. “The desert’s never seen anything li-- woah!” He lurched forward as Poison slammed on the gas, knocking into the seat in front of him. “Shit.” Decay burst out laughing. 

With all the kids laughing around him, Poison could almost forget the anxiety nettling at the back of his mind.

But not quite.

***

Poison knew that the kids were getting bored. Their chatter had died out after an hour or two, and now they were silent, shifting uncomfortably and trying to ignore the sweltering heat. The radio made the ride a little more bearable, but it was still boring as hell. 

Poison usually found road trips fun. They could be either wild or relaxing, depending on his mood, and there was no better feeling than taking his friends out on a spin. But this only applied when his friends were actually _there._ He typically drove around because he liked it, not to comb every grain of sand in the desert and find his best friend before BLI did. This was a completely different experience. It was stuffy and monotonous and stressful, and he couldn’t even take a break for fear of lost time. This wasn’t a pleasure cruise. It was a mission.

Decay groaned. “Can we pause for a few minutes? I’m gonna suffocate if I have to stay in here much longer.” The others murmured their agreement, even Kobra, though he did so reluctantly. 

Poison hesitated. It was true that they needed to stretch their limbs, but what if they missed something? What if letting go of these few minutes meant the difference between saving Ghoul and watching him die?

“It won’t make a difference,” Jet said quietly, as if he could read Poison’s mind. “You need fresh air too, even if you don’t want to admit it. Let’s just take a quick break and then we can get going again.”

He sighed, and slowly let up on the gas. “Okay. But it has to be fast.” The car came to a halt, and the kids instantly shoved one another out of the way in a race to be the first outside.

Poison pushed his door open and stepped out. Even with the sun shining directly down on his skin, it was cooler outside than it was in the car. He took a deep breath. The air was refreshingly clean, and only a few seconds spent outside managed to restore some of his energy. He shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand and looked out into the desert. Miles and miles of sand stared back at him. 

As he leaned back against the Trans Am, the space felt a little less endless; his task a bit more feasible. 

“Car at twelve o’clock,” called Double. “Should we stop blocking the street?”

Poison looked down the road. It was so flat, you could see vehicles approaching from a mile away, and since there was so little traffic, most killjoys traveled at speeds that made the distance pass by in only a couple of minutes. He guessed that it would take about that much time for the car to reach them.

“Yeah, we should go.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it Better Living? I can’t tell.”

“Nah, can’t be,” said Decay. “It’s got color.” He squinted as the car grew closer, a cloud of dust becoming visible at its wheels. “Wait…”

“Shit,” Maniac said suddenly. “Shit, fuck, everybody in the car! We need to hit the red line right now!” 

Poison had enough common sense not to ask questions before jumping back into the car and revving the engine. As soon as everyone had piled in, he hit the gas, Benzedrine swinging his door shut as the car peeled away. 

“Who is that?” Kobra demanded.

Decay pressed his face to the window, trying to look behind them. “That’s the Ultra-Vs’ car.”

“They’re the reason Dr. D wanted us to be careful,” Benzedrine said nervously. “Their leader is Val Velocity. We’d better hope he didn’t see us.”

“There’s no way he didn’t,” Kobra muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair. “God damnit. What’s he going to do?”

Decay turned around, his face pale. “Looks like he’s going to try and catch up.”

Poison watched in the rear-view mirror as the car behind them accelerated. He did the same, but the Trans Am wasn’t exactly the newest model on the block, and couldn’t go as fast. It was only a few minutes before this “Val Velocity” was hot on their heels. The car was bright red, Poison could finally see, with a giant _"V"_ spray-painted across the hood in white. Nowhere near as cool as the Trans Am. Who did this guy think he was, trying to chase them? Why did they have to run away?

“Oh shit,” Maniac said under his breath. “This is _not_ good.” His fingers were wrapped tightly around the butt of his pale blue ray gun. 

“It’s stupid is what it is,” said Poison. He glanced in the mirror again, frowning at the car behind them. Something was building inside him…

“You know what?” he said. “Fuck it. No hot-headed crash queen with a few kills under his belt and a tacky-ass ride is going to scare me.”

The Trans Am screeched to a halt, and behind them, the red car swerved to avoid a collision. Poison threw the door open and marched outside.

“Poison!” Jet cried. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Kobra shouted. “Poison, you--”

Their warnings fell on deaf ears.

“You wanted me?” Poison shouted, raising his arms. “Come and fucking get me!”

A killjoy with flaming red hair emerged from the other car. Poison scowled, remembering what Dr. D had said. This asshole had the nerve to steal his color?

“Party Poison,” said the killjoy. He wore a confident smirk, the expression just as entitled as his hairstyle. He had a white leather jacket with a popped collar, a set of fake fangs strung around his neck, and a mask hiding half his face. It wasn’t a bad look. Poison might have respected it, if it weren’t for the reputation of the man who flaunted it. 

“Val Velocity,” he said.

Val sneered. “That’s right. I heard you on the radio the other day-- that Dr. Death Defying never plays anything but tired old crap.”

Kobra appeared at Poison’s side, looking ready to kill. Poison flung out his arm.

“Don’t do anything rash, Kobra, we don’t know what this guy’s deal is yet.”

 _”Me,_ don’t do anything rash?” Kobra hissed. “Poison--”

“My deal?” Val interupted. “I should be the one asking _you_ that question. You think you can just show up after three years and act like nothing’s changed? Hate to break it to you, but the zones aren’t your stomping grounds anymore. Move your feet, lose your seat, and your throne’s been taken, _Party Poison._ Someone else stepped up in your… absence.”

“You son of a bitch,” Kobra snarled. “The desert doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“What do you want us to do?” Poison said scornfully. “Crawl under a rock? You don’t have any control over what we do or don’t do. This is our home, and it sure as fuck isn’t your kingdom.”

“You’ve died once already,” replied Val. “Surely one more time couldn’t hurt?”

A pink-haired killjoy leaned out the window of Val’s car and aimed their ray gun, pulling the trigger with a _pew!_ Poison ducked the shot, grabbing onto Kobra to keep him from lunging forward. 

“We don’t have to fight them!” Poison hissed. 

“Oh, don’t we?” Kobra snapped back. “They’re fighting _us!_ ”

“This isn’t a fight, stupid, it’s posturing. He’s not going to kill us. He just wants to scare us off so we can let him have his reign of tyranny.” Poison glanced over at Val. “Isn’t that right?”

“It would be nice if you cooperated,” Val said casually. “I’m not saying I won’t send you back where you came from eventually, but I don’t see why it has to be done now.”

“It doesn’t have to be done at all.” Poison straightened up, glaring at Val. “As long as you stay out of our way, we’ll stay out of yours. Do we have an understanding?”

Val laughed. “The only way you could stay away from me is to leave this desert… But it might be fun to watch you run around. You can pretend all you want, but you’re no better than I am. It’s only a matter of time before you start acting like kings yourselves. _That’s_ when you’ll have to answer to me.” 

“You want to make a show of it, don’t you?” Poison growled. “Invite everyone, have a goddamn party. Show them who’s boss.” 

“So you do understand.” Val smiled. “Have fun keeping your egos in check.”

He snapped his fingers, and one of his cronies kicked the car door open. He sat down and pulled the door shut, the engine roaring as he pulled away. 

His smirk lingered in Poison’s mind even after the car was long gone. 

As soon as Val’s car was out of side, Kobra rounded on Poison, nearly smoking with fury.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” he said, shoving Poison to the side. Poison was startled at the amount of force behind it. Kobra had a short temper towards his enemies, but it took a lot to get him legitimately pissed off at one of the Killjoys. “Why did you feel the need to stop? What if he really did want to kill us, huh? You just rose to his bait without even thinking!”

“I wasn’t about to run away!”

“What, so you would’ve sacrificed yourself for your image?” Kobra yelled. “We’ve got kids with us, Poison! You can’t keep being reckless like this!”

“You were the one who was about to jump him,” Poison said through gritted teeth. He could feel his own temper rising. “If I hadn’t held you back, we would’ve had to fight it out for real.”

“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize that taking on someone who tried to _shoot you_ was an issue,” Kobra fired back. “There was no way we could’ve known he wasn’t looking to fight. You might be good at reading people, but you aren’t always right. You got lucky. If you’d been wrong, you would be ghosted right now, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. I’d expect you to be focused on saving Ghoul right now, but I guess you’ve got more important things to worry about. Maybe Val was right. Maybe you are a little too full of yourself.”

He turned around and stomped back to the car, his boots scuffing marks into the dusty ground.

Poison just stood there silently. Kobra didn’t get angry often, but when he did, he knew all the words that would sting beyond belief. The hurt and guilt tugged at Poison’s heart, raising a lump in his throat that made it a little hard to breathe.

Kobra was right. Poison _should_ have been thinking about Ghoul, about the kids. Could Val have been right? Were they really all that different?

_I really fucked up, didn’t I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i didnt mean for this to happen this fic has a mind of its own,,
> 
> also, a Thing! i've just posted part one of my next killjoy fic!! u can find it here 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8293238/chapters/18996830
> 
> and i would really appreciate it if you read/commented! thank you so much <3


	9. move your body when the sunlight dies

Seeing Kobra Kid angry was just plain unsettling.

Decay had watched from the car as he and Poison fought; Kobra shouting, pushing, defying his usual quiet nature. Decay would be lying if he said it didn’t scare him. When he was a kid, he’d heard talk about the Killjoys-- that you should never make them angry if you valued your life. He had never understood it. The Fab Four were the good guys, weren’t they? Why should they be feared?

When Decay finally met Poison, he’d been relieved to see that the rumors were only rumors. The Killjoys were nice. More than nice. They were genuinely good people. What did it matter if they had temper tantrums once in a while? He didn’t understand why so many people thought of them as dangerous.

After Kobra Kid stomped back to the car, his breathing heavy, Decay thought he understood a little more.

He and Maniac looked at each other, eyes wide. Neither wanted to say anything, but they were both thinking the same thing-- _holy shit._ It was dead silent in the Trans Am. Kobra avoided looking at any of them, even as Jet Star stared at the back of his head without pause.

Decay looked out the window, and instantly regretted it.

Poison was standing exactly where Kobra had left him, frozen in the sand. Even from a distance, Decay could see the hurt in his eyes. Whatever Kobra said must have packed a powerful punch. He didn’t move for a long time. 

After a few minutes, he shook himself, his eyes narrowing. The hurt look disappeared, replaced by one of controlled anger. Poison strode back to the car and took the front seat, turning the key in the ignition.

“Are we going back to the station?” Benzedrine said timidly.

“No,” Poison snapped. “Not until we’ve got to.”

Jet Star was looking back and forth between Poison and Kobra, desperately trying for eye contact with either of them. It wasn't working. Decay couldn’t tell if he looked more angry or upset, but he sure as hell didn't want to be in the same room when those three finally broke their silence.

They kept driving for hours. With every passing minute, the tension grew worse, until Decay was itching for an escape. They didn’t find a trace of Fun Ghoul, which couldn’t have helped Poison’s mood. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel when they finally turned back towards the station.

As soon as the car came to a halt, Decay flew out the door. Benzedrine, Maniac, and Double were right behind him. They made no attempt to disguise their hurry. A very bemused-looking Cherri Cola opened the door, and they only shook their heads furiously before tripping down the stairs to the safety of their studio.

Maniac slammed the door behind them. “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again. What the fuck just happened?” Decay said. 

“I mean, they’re obviously stressed out about Ghoul,” Maniac grimaced. “And it… well, it really was a dumbfuck move, stopping the car with Val right behind us. But Jesus, I’d never expect Kobra to blow up like that.”

“I felt bad for Poison,” Benzedrine murmured. “Getting shoved around by his own brother? Kobra _really_ must have been angry. That kind of move only works because they care about each other, and they both know it.”

“Yeah,” Decay said, and the room went quiet. The only sound was that of each boy’s breathing. 

Outside, someone clunked down the stairs. Cherri and Kobra’s voices became audible as they passed by the studio.

“You _what?_ ”

“This is the shit that got us dusted in the first place, Cherri! The zones aren’t the same as they used to be. We can’t afford to _act_ the way we used to.”

“Don’t you think you should talk to--”

“Fuck no. I’m not talking to him until he apologizes.”

“I meant Jet Star.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then Kobra sighed. “I don’t really want to talk to him either. Not yet. He’ll either act like a disappointed parent or he’ll get pissed off, and I don’t want to fight with him, too.”

“But you will talk to him?”

“Yeah. Later. I think… I think I just want to be alone right now.”

Kobra’s footsteps slowly faded out of earshot. Decay waited until he heard Cherri walk away before speaking.

“Well, that was heavy as fuck.”

“It’s weird that they’re so… I don’t know. Imperfect,” Benzedrine whispered. “When I was in the city, they always talked about the desert as if it was free of everything, even problems. I knew it wasn’t true, of course. It was just idealistic gossip. But it’s still weird to hear them fight, you know?”

“It’s the same way out here,” Decay said, taking a seat on the floor. “I mean, they’re celebrities. Nobody wants to think about what goes on behind the scenes. Nobody wants to know that they’re just as human and scared as the rest of us.”

Maniac sat down next to Decay, then went a step further and laid back on the ground. He sighed loudly. “Ugh. This sucks. Sorry your first impression turned out so shitty, Double.”

“It’s cool,” Double mumbled. “I mean, it’s weird. It’s definitely weird. But I’m not going to leave or anything. I think I want to help, if I can.”

A pair of wheels rumbled past their door. Decay would have laughed at the speed of the sound, with all the nervous energy he had pent up, if he didn’t know what it indicated. He braced himself, then--

“Val Velocity? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Dr. D shouted.

“Fuck,” Maniac mumbled. “Not again.”

The response was inaudible, but Decay figured it was Poison receiving the lecture. Dr. D was a master when it came to chewing people out. The yelling seemed to stretch on forever, no matter how he willed it to stop.

“So, you heard the one about the ritalin rat and the rattlesnake?” Maniac said weakly. Decay rolled his eyes, and Maniac shrugged. “Just trying to lighten the mood, man. Are we going to stay in here all day while they rip each other apart?”

Benzedrine groaned. “I hope not. There’s only so much you can…” He paused. “Hey. You know what we haven’t done yet? We’re all together, we could name ourselves, if we wanted.”

“That sounds perfect,” Decay said gratefully. “Anybody have ideas?”

They all looked at each other, unsure.

“Maybe something with ‘kids’ in it?” Double tried. “That’s what everyone seems to call us.”

“The overcast kids?” Benzedrine suggested.

“That’s got a nice ring to it,” Maniac said. “But do you really want them to keep calling us ‘kids?’ I feel like we should… send off a more mature vibe, I don’t know.”

“We’ll keep trying, then,” said Benzedrine, unabashed. “Let’s see…”

Several names cropped up as they brainstormed. The overcast kids, the suitehearts, whatever else came to mind. They all sounded awesome, but none of them felt _right._ They needed a name that would really capture their spirit. They were young and dangerous. They were the voice of change, and they needed a name that would scream it out loud.

As Maniac and Double bounced ideas around, Decay’s mind worked furiously. Something was coming together. Words connected and broke apart, moving and locking into the perfect puzzle.

“The youngbloods,” he said quietly.

Maniac stared at him.

“Mic fucking dropped, dude.”

He grinned. “You like it?”

“It's perfect,” Benzedrine and Double said in unison. They looked at each other and giggled.

It really was perfect, Decay thought. As soon as the station calmed down a bit, they could share it, and maybe even start playing music for real. They were a band now. They were a crew. This was _real._

“The Youngbloods,” he repeated. 

_I think we’re ready._

***

Barely a minute after the shouting stopped, Dr. D rolled up to the studio door and yanked it open. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't nearly as angry as he'd sounded earlier. He just looked tired.

“Decaydance. You said you had friends working for Tommy Chow Mein?”

“Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?” said Decay.

“We’re paying them a visit.”

Decay frowned. “Okay… why?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dr. D said shortly. “Or, someone will. Get out to the car. You give Poison directions, I’ll be following with Jet and Kobra in the van. Cherri’s gone ahead of us.”

Decay pushed himself to his feet. “D, what's going on?”

“Don't ask questions. Just go.” He pushed at the wheels of his chair, retreating down the hall. Decay stared after him.

“Okay, then.” 

He stepped out the door, looking to make sure the others were following before heading up the stairs. Outside, the Trans Am was waiting for them, a tense Party Poison leaning against the door. Decay slid into the front seat without saying anything. The others, no, the Youngbloods, piled into the back. Poison took the driver’s side and switched the car into reverse, backing away from the station.

“Why are we going to Tommy’s?” Decay burst out.

Poison sighed, maneuvering the car onto Route Guano. “Dr. D thinks… He thinks Val Velocity isn’t going to stay away for long.” There was a certain element of bitterness in his voice when he spoke Val’s name, spitting it out like a curse. “He’ll be on our asses soon enough, and he won’t leave us alone. Dr. D thinks it’s best for us to be prepared.”

“What do you mean, be prepared?” said Decay, his brow furrowing. “How’s Tommy going to help us?”

“He’s not. You said you had a friend that worked for him, right? When we were talking about the Girl?”

“Yeah… Well, one friend. But he doesn’t like to get caught up in gang wars. I only suggested him because he visits Bat City pretty often.”

“Good,” said Poison. “That’s why we need him.”

Decay’s eyes widened. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re--”

Poison cut him off. “Dr. D says we might have to move on to the next phase of our plan. With Val after our blood, it’s,” he took one hand off the steering wheel to make finger quotes, “‘not safe here’ for us. We might have to hide out in the city while we search for the Girl.”

“What?” said Maniac, sounding almost insulted. “That’s stupid! You can’t just run away from him!”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Poison sighed. “But… it’s not just me I’m looking after. I have to make sure Jet and Kobra are safe. From what I hear, Val doesn’t fuck around. He could kill us on sight, or have one of his followers do it. And it’s not like we’re just running. We _do_ need to get to the Girl as fast as possible.”

“You can’t,” Maniac said stubbornly. “I’ll talk to Dr. D. He’s old, he doesn’t understand.”

Poison laughed, but it was halfhearted at best. “In his mind, it’s the other way around. How could a kid like you understand?”

“You wouldn’t be able to change his mind, dude,” Decay muttered to Maniac.

“I know,” Maniac said. “But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? They can’t go to the city! It’s just as dangerous there as it is here. Probably even more so. The Fabulous Killjoys can’t leave right after they’ve come back!”

“I know,” said Poison. He hadn’t turned on the radio like he usually did. His hands were loose around the steering wheel; eyes staring through the windshield, not seeming to see the world outside. “But the Girl needs us. We were sworn to protect her, you know? Not just by oath, but by love. She’s family. We… I can’t let her stay in that place any longer.”

“You sound like you’ve already made your choice,” said Benzedrine. 

Poison shrugged listlessly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. There’s danger everywhere, even more so than usual. I never would have thought that was possible. I’m needed in the city, but I’m needed here, too. There’s no way I can do it all at once. I have to choose.”

“What about Fun Ghoul?” Decay asked quietly.

Poison didn’t respond. If his breath hitched, Decay didn’t call attention to it.

“He needs help, wherever he is,” Poison said finally. “But I’m not the only person who can give it to him.”

He didn’t say anything more, but a few minutes later, he murmured something almost inaudible. Decay was sure it wasn’t meant to be heard.

“Maybe it’s better if I’m not.”

***

Tommy Chow Mein’s shop never seemed to change. It was a landmark; untouchable by any force, whether natural or man-made. Sand shifted beneath Decay’s feet as he hurried to the front door. He knocked, then swung the door open.

“Hello?”

“In here,” called Cherri. Decay sidestepped a shelf and made his way to the counter. Behind it were three familiar faces. Cherri and Tommy were absorbed in conversation, but looked up with respective amusement and annoyance as the third ran to Decaydance and scooped him off his feet into a hug.

“Decay! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Killer King,” Decay grinned. “You haven’t changed, I see.”

“Nah. Still the hottest thing in this star system.” Killer dropped Decay and struck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other pushing through his artfully sculpted hair. He winked, and they both burst out laughing.

“Dude, what the hell is going on?” Killer asked, sobering up a little. “It was trippy enough when Cherri told me _Party Poison_ was stopping by, but what’s this shit about an escape plan?”

Decay scowled. “Is that what he called it?”

“I dunno. All I heard was that I need to get you guys into the city.”

“Oh, no,” Cherri cut in. “No. Decaydance will not be accompanying you. You’ll be guiding the Fabulous Killjoys, yes, but please don’t go rushing ahead of yourself before you know half the plan.”

“Wait, what?” said Decay, indignant. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“None of you kids are,” Cherri said sternly. “It’s too dangerous.”

Maniac, Benzedrine, and Double appeared in the doorway. Maniac was scowling.

“Don’t tell me you just said what I think you said.”

Tommy jabbed a finger at them. “If you’re going to be a pack of brats, you’ll be out on your asses before you can blink. Got it? I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but I’m not getting involved. You just listen to Cherri and Dr. D.”

“This isn’t fair,” Benzedrine protested. “We’re just as much a part of it as they are! Why can’t we go?”

“Because,” said Poison, pushing through the door behind them. “You don’t have a reason to. Val Velocity isn’t trying to kill _you._ The zones are safer for you than anyone, and if you leave, you’ll just end up on BLI’s wanted list. I’m not going to be the reason they start hunting you.”

“They would hunt us anyway, once we started playing music,” Decay argued.

“But you wouldn’t be in the city, right under their noses,” Poison retorted. “You’re good kids. Under any other circumstances, I’d say hell yeah, take them with us. But this is too important. I like you guys, that’s why I’m not carting you off to death’s door.”

“Wait, wait,” Killer interrupted. “Can someone please explain what’s going on?”

Poison raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between Decay and Killer. “You’re that runner friend Decay mentioned?”

“Yeah. Also known as your way out, so I think you should tell me why the fuck you aren’t letting my friend go with you.” Killer crossed his arms over his chest, looking directly into Poison’s eyes in a challenging glare. Decay didn’t know how he managed it. Normally, Killer was a huge fan of the Fabulous Killjoys-- the only reason he’d go against them would be to protect his friends. 

“Dude, chill out,” Decay muttered. “You’re overreacting.”

Poison held up his hands. “I’m not gonna fight you, kid. It’s not one you want to get yourself into, and it’s not necessary, either. You want an explanation? I’ll give you one.”

He hopped onto the counter, nodding to Cherri and Tommy. 

“So. Bear in mind that none of this is set in stone; we might not even leave the desert. It’s just a possibility we have to explore,” Poison started. “Basically, I was a dumb piece of fuck and tried to start shit with Val Velocity. He already wanted to kill me, so that couldn’t have helped. He said he wouldn’t do anything unless we pissed him off, but that’s kind of inevitable, so D. D said we should be on our guard.

“That’s not the only reason we might leave, though. The Girl is trapped in Bat City. She’s been there for three years. We have no idea what they’ve done to her, we just know that she needs our help. The sooner we can get to her, the better, and if we left for the city now, we wouldn’t have to deal with Val.” 

“But we still don’t know where Fun Ghoul is,” Benzedrine interjected. “So that’s another reason to stay.”

Poison took a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s… that’s definitely a reason to stay.”

Killer King’s tension had softened as Poison spoke. He leaned against a shelf, looking thoughtful. “So, you’d just need me to show you the way into Battery City?”

Poison nodded. “You might have to guide us around a little bit. Show us how things work, help us find the Girl, maybe, but nothing major. You could leave if things got too intense.”

“Are you kidding? I’d want to be there!” Killer said, face shining with excitement. He was a bit of an adrenaline junkie, a bit of an attention whore. He loved the spotlight, and Decay couldn’t see him turning down an opportunity like this one. His previous anger had vanished completely. 

Poison rolled his eyes. “I know. What I _mean_ is, we’d _make_ you leave if things got too intense. You’re not an exception to the rule just because you’re a runner. You’re too young to get into this shit.”

Killer’s face fell. “But what if I could help? I know the city really well!” 

“I’m sure you do. But arguing isn’t going to help you, kid, I’m not changing my mind. You’re our tour guide, not our bodyguard. Your job is to get us in and get yourself out.”

Killer slumped against the shelf with a groan. “Seriously? I’ve been called a lot of things, but ‘tour guide?’ Damn. That’s harsh.”

“We’re heading into brat territory,” Tommy said pointedly. “Shut it or get out. Poison’s got an offer, are you going to accept or not?”

Killer sighed, puffing out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Fine. Yes, I accept. I’ve got a couple people in the city I’ve been talking to recently, they can help us out. I’ll tell them what’s up tonight and be back by tomorrow.”

“Good.” Poison reached out and lightly socked him in the shoulder. “Never caught your name, by the way.”

“It’s Killer King.”

“Nice to meet you, Killer King. I’m Party Poison.”

The door swung open, and Kobra Kid stuck his head inside. “Did we miss something?” he asked, stepping in with Jet Star and Dr. D at his back.

“We’ve got ourselves a plan,” Poison announced. “This is Killer King. If we do decide to hit the red line out of here, he’ll be our guide.”

Kobra Kid went up to shake Killer’s hand, and Jet Star gave him a polite nod.

“You can’t go yet, though,” Decay said suddenly. “There’s something you need to hear first.”

“And what would that be?” Poison said, curious.

Decay grinned. He grabbed Benzedrine, Double, and Maniac, pulling them into a cluster around him. 

“You haven’t heard the Youngbloods play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be the last of this fic!! oh my goodness im excited


	10. we'll find you when the sun goes black

There was nothing like a little celebrity endorsement to ramp up the hype. When Poison tugged off his headset, closing out Dr. D’s broadcast, he knew the Youngbloods’ upcoming gig would be jumping in mere hours. He pushed his chair back and kicked his legs up onto the table, reclining with a smirk. “You’re welcome.”

“They’ll all be coming to see you guys, not us,” Maniac grumbled.

Decay whapped him in the shoulder. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to look a gift droid in the mouth? We’ve got a stage, instruments, and fans, thanks to the Killjoys and Dr. D. Have some manners, dude.”

“I’m kidding, jeez!”

“You shouldn’t be,” Poison teased. “I’m not promising I won’t steal your show.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Benzedrine. He tried to look threatening, but couldn’t quite pull it off.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Poison’s smirk widened. “Honey, you haven’t seen _half_ the shit I pull onstage.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Jet muttered. Kobra made a pained noise of agreement.

“Oh, shut up. I’m not _that_ bad… Well, okay, yeah. I am. But you don’t have to be rude about it.” Poison stuck his tongue out at them before refocusing on the Youngbloods. “Anyway. Do you have outfits yet?”

“Outfits?” they said in unison, looking back and forth between each other with varying degrees of confusion.

“Nope,” Decay concluded. “None at all. We’ll probably just wear our normal stuff.” He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt.

Poison shook his head firmly. “No. No, nuh-uh, you are not walking into Fuck Your House dressed like that.” He glanced over at Dr. D. “D, Do you still have a bin of extra shit lying around?”

Dr. D grunted. “The only shit that goes into that bin is true and proper shit. They’d be better off in what they’re wearing now.”

“But it’s not _distinctive,_ ” Poison whined. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Show me where it’s at, we’ve got a makeover to perform.”

Dr. D sighed, pushing the Youngbloods out of the way as he wheeled away from his booth. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Poison followed him eagerly as he retreated down the hall into one of the storage rooms. They both began rifling through the piles of crates, searching for any scraps of fabric.

“Ooh! I think I found it!” said Poison, grabbing onto the edge of what looked like a sleeve, sandwiched between a pair of boxes. He set the one on top aside. Sure enough, beneath it was a treasure trove of discarded fashion.

Most of it was tacky as hell, he had to admit. Dr. D threw things out for a reason. Green, orange, yellow… He frowned.

“Hey, guys? Come and give me your verdict.”

“There’s no way they’re gonna agree to any of that,” Dr. D scoffed. 

“Who knows?” Poison defended. “Maybe they’ve got different taste than us.”

“‘Different,’ yeah, that’s a word for it.”

The Youngbloods appeared in the doorway, Benzedrine at their head. He stared at the box in Poison’s arms. “Is that for us?”

“If you want it to be.” Poison tossed him a bright green jacket, snickering. “This one has a whole matching suit. Whaddaya say, can you rock it?”

“No thanks,” Benzedrine said delicately. “Why don’t you let me take a look?” He took the box from Poison, setting it atop a table so he could properly look through it. Maniac, Decay, and Double crowded around him, each of them reaching inside and inspecting the box’s contents.

“I’m not going to touch that, forget about wearing it,” Maniac said under his breath. Double giggled.

“These are pretty ridiculous. I just can’t see us… Hey, wait.” He lifted up a denim vest. “This one isn’t so bad.”

“That’s actually pretty nice,” said Decay, sounding surprised. He took it, running his fingers along the faded blue fabric. “Benz, you should take it.”

“What, me?” said Benzedrine, blushing. Decay threw it at him.

“You’re the singer, you’ve gotta look plus one! Try it on, Mr. Modest.”

Benzedrine rolled his eyes, but slipped it on, holding out his arms. “Happy?”

“Do a little twirl, won’t you?”

“Shut your mouth.” Benzedrine looked up at Poison. “What do you think?”

“Looks good,” Poison said with a nod. “I say go for it.” 

The others, heartened by Benzedrine’s success, began rummaging through the box anew. Dr. D managed to uncover a second crate, from which Decay grabbed a stick of eyeliner, grinning evilly. Benzedrine dug a fedora out of who-knows-where, and it was love at first sight.

They searched through the room for another half hour. By the time they were finished, Decay was outfitted with a leather jacket and eyes coated black; Benzedrine with his vest and hat, which he wore with pride; Maniac with a darker vest; and Double with nothing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t found anything. He’d simply rejected it all.

“I think I’m just gonna take my shirt off,” he said thoughtfully.

“What?” Maniac snorted. “You? No way.”

At this, Double had peeled his shirt off and pointed at the tattoos creeping across his chest. “This is good enough, right?”

“Holy shit,” said Decay, impressed. “How old are you, again?”

“Put your clothes back on, kid,” Dr. D said crossly. “You’ll be late to your own show.”

“Shit, is it time already?” said Decay, looking around. “Should we head out?”

“Give me a minute,” said Poison. “You’re not the only one who needs to get ready.” He winked, then ducked out of the room.

After he was ghosted, Dr. D had kept most of his possessions. He actually had several outfits left. It was a major stroke of luck on his part-- while his jacket served him well, the extra layer was a little too hot for performing. All desert rats had a certain scent they couldn’t expunge, due to the lack of showers, but Poison tried his best to stay slightly presentable. He usually wore tank tops onstage. They were much lighter, and it did add a certain amount of confidence to be able to walk around in what could barely be called a shirt. 

He scanned the room for any fresh clothes. Nothing there, nothing there, that was Kobra’s-- oh! There, in the corner. He swiped the shirt from the floor. A little rumpled, but it would do. He straightened up, bracing a hand against the wall as his head swam. Funny. Everything seemed to be spinning.

_”Poison!”_

_The Girl shook his shoulders, looking up at him with desperation in her eyes. Those eyes. He had been wrong about them before. They were faded, yes, and dull beyond comparison, but they weren’t dead yet._

_”Poison, you have to listen to me. Please. Can you hear me? Poison, I need you to tell me, there isn’t much time!” She shook him harder, but he could barely feel it. He could barely hear her. She sounded distant, as if she was speaking from miles away, her voice only audible through the faintest of echoes. They bounced around in his head as he stared at her._

_Wherever they were, it was dark as pitch. The only only reason the Girl was visible was the bright white of her clothes, shining off her almost-translucent skin, casting shadows across her face. Why white? The color, or lack thereof, didn’t suit her. Her hair was different, too-- matted into locks instead of the poofy curls she used to flaunt._

_”Poison!”_

_Her voice faded into silence, and her eyes went wide, suddenly fearful. She raised a hand to her lips. When she pulled it away, her fingertips were dotted with blood. She looked at them in horror, then coughed, splattering red into her palm._

_She kept coughing, and the blood kept coming. She pressed her hand to her mouth, and blood spurted right through her fingers. The flow was ceaseless now. She was coughing harder, choking on it, but somehow, she still managed to speak._

_”Please,” she begged, blood gushing from her open mouth. “Hurry.”_

_A snarl echoed all around them, and her face contorted with fear. Her form flickered for a moment. Then, with a snap, she disappeared. Only darkness and silence remained where she had stood. Except…_

_Poison could still hear something breathing._

Poison gasped, the Girl’s voice ringing in his ears. He shook his head wildly, but she was nowhere to be seen. He was alone. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the tank top. Slowly, he relaxed his grip.

_What the fuck?_

He’d call it a bad trip, but he hadn’t taken anything. He’d call it a nightmare, but he wasn’t asleep. He’d call it a hallucination, but… Fuck. Was he hallucinating now?

Poison traded his shirt for the tank and headed out the door, shaking his head. He couldn’t deal with this now. If he brought it up, the others would flip out, and he didn’t want to put a damper on the Youngbloods’ first show. He would deal with it later. The echoes of her voice, the chill that had sunk deep into his skin, it could all wait.

Maybe he would need his jacket after all. 

***

The minute they walked through the back door of Fuck Your House, Poison knew the place was packed. He could hear the rumble of conversation, the occasional peals of laughter that signified the presence of killjoys. Many killjoys. The Youngbloods definitely noticed-- Benzedrine’s face turned several shades paler as they moved backstage.

Someone had brought their instruments ahead of time. Poison picked up Maniac’s guitar, and was looking it over when something flashed through the corner of his eye. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of polka dots before he was tackled. 

“Jesus,” he wheezed, stepping back to keep his balance. “Some people never change, huh?”

Show Pony’s laugh was muffled by his helmet. “Why the fuck would I?” He squeezed Poison tightly before pulling back and ripping the helmet off. His hair fell over his face in chestnut locks, which he brushed it away impatiently, looking up at Poison. “Why did I only just hear of your presence?” he demanded. “Is Dr. D getting slow?”

“How are you only just hearing about it?” Poison snorted. “I’ve been here for a week already. I’ve been on the _radio,_ stupid, D probably just assumed you knew. You’re the one who’s behind the times. Where have you been?”

Show Pony sniffed. “Whatever you say... I’ve been hangin’ with Hot Chimp for a few days now, her parties never turn down. It’s no wonder I didn’t hear you.”

Poison punched him in the arm. “You fucker! I didn’t want to ask where you were, I thought you’d gotten fucking ghosted or some shit!"

“Little old me?” Show Pony batted his eyelashes. “That’s sweet, Poison. I didn’t know you cared.” He reached out and squeezed Poison’s ass before rolling back on his skates. “Anyway, I made sure all the stuff is set up. We can catch up later.” He nodded to the Youngbloods. “‘Sup? Nice jacket, Decay.”

“Thanks,” said Decay. “Are you gonna introduce us to the crowd?”

“Yup,” Show Pony said proudly. “I’m tonight’s official emcee. Get your shit together, and we’ll get this ball rolling, baby.”

Decay slung his bass around his neck. Benzedrine and Maniac had their guitars at the ready, and Double stood clutching his drumsticks. 

“Ready for your debut?” Poison said, grinning. Outside, the crowd was beginning to grow louder. In time, the Youngbloods would learn to enjoy it, but for now, they all radiated anxiety. He hoped they would get over it quickly. There was no feeling better than having a venue full of people singing your songs back to you. It was something to be enjoyed, not feared. He ruffled Maniac’s hair, then took off Benzedrine’s precious hat to do the same. Double got a high five, Decay a fist bump, then Poison was shoving them toward the stage. “Go! Do it now and do it loud!”

Show Pony took this as his cue to skate onto center stage.

He grabbed a microphone from the floor, not bothering to test the volume before screaming into it, “Ladies, gentlemen, droids, cactus fuckers, and all in between! I assume you all came here to see a show and not to run your mouths, so you’d better shut the fuck up if you aren’t singing along! We’ve got something good for you tonight. From the heart of the desert, I give you… The Youngbloods!”

Show Pony grabbed Decay’s hand and swung it up as the crowd cheered. Then he passed off the mic to Benzedrine, skating off into the wings. 

Poison watched fondly as they started up their set. Benzedrine looked ready to snap with tension, but he was holding it together. The others seemed to have a stabilizing effect on him. He took a deep breath and looked at each of them before opening his mouth and singing out loud. 

“So, where’d you find these guys?” Show Pony asked. “They’re pretty fuckin’ shiny.”

“It’s more like they found us,” said Kobra, suddenly appearing by Poison’s side. “But, yeah, they’re cool.”

Show Pony looked back and forth between them, raising an eyebrow, then rolled away without a word. 

Poison glanced up at Kobra, unsure.

“So,” Kobra muttered. “I just, uh… wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have said that stuff. Sorry.”

Poison gave a small smile. “It’s fine. You were right, I was being stupid.”

“No-- well, yeah,” Kobra admitted. “You were. But that’s not the point. The point is, you’re nothing like Val Velocity. So what if you don’t like to run away? That doesn’t mean you’re a crazy, power-hungry asshole. You’re my brother, and you’re my friend, and we shouldn’t be fighting over stupid stuff when we should be saving the rest of our family.”

Poison looked away, lightly punching Kobra in the shoulder. “You’re such a sap.” After a moment, his smile faded, and he sighed as he looked back at his brother. “What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Kobra said quietly. “Whatever we need to, I guess.”

Poison watched as Maniac spun wildly around the stage, his fingers dancing across the frets of his guitar. 

“I can’t let them find Ghoul,” he whispered. “If I left, and then we came back and he was gone… Kobra, I just can’t do that.”

“I know. I don’t want to either.” Kobra’s lips quirked up in a half-grin. “But I won’t pretend to know how you feel. You’re the one who’s in love with him.”

“Shut up.”

“What? It’s true.”

“Yeah,” Poison mumbled, his face burning. “But that doesn’t make it any easier, asshole.”

“‘Course not.” Kobra nudged him. “But he’ll be fine. You know that, right? He was flying solo for years before we met him. He can handle it. You trust him, don’t you?”

“Duh.” Poison could hear the crowd cheering, but it felt far away. “It’s not just Ghoul I’m worried about, though. I can’t stop thinking about the Girl. No matter what’s happening in the desert… It’s worse in the city. I keep having dreams about her. They’re not going to stop until we do something.” 

“It’ll be okay,” Kobra repeated. “It’s not like the desert’s completely empty. We’ve got Dr. D, Cherri, hell, we practically have the entire killjoy population on our side.”

“Yeah.” Benzedrine had gotten into the swing of things and was parading around the stage, shouting gleefully into his microphone. Poison laughed. “Man, we’ve got to play a show like this sometime. That is, if we come back alive.”

Kobra scoffed. “Haven’t we proven that death doesn’t apply to us? We can play however many shows we want.”

“Yeah…” Poison looked out over the crowd, letting the sound wash over him. It was good to be back at a concert. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been watching instead of playing. It was a different experience, for sure, but by no means a lesser one. He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling.

It took only a moment for it to fall apart.

Maniac struck a sour note, and all of a sudden, the screams of the crowd were not out of joy. 

“Shit,” Poison said immediately, his eyes snapping open. Over the shouts, he could hear ray gun fire. He grabbed Kobra and yanked him away from the stage. “Decay! You idiots, get over here!” he yelled. The Youngbloods came rushing off the stage, looking panicked.

“It’s Val, I saw him!” Double cried out. “What do we do?”

Poison shared a tense moment of eye contact with Kobra. “He’s after us. We need to get out of here.” He made straight for the back door. Show Pony was waiting for them, and locked the door once they were all outside.

“It’s always something,” he said grimly. “If it’s not dracs, it’s nutjobs. Why do we never learn?”

“Because concerts are fucking worth it,” said Poison, smiling through the fear that gripped him. “Good job, guys. If you hadn’t gotten busted, that would’ve been the best show I’ve seen all year. In fact, I think it was anyway.”

“You haven’t seen any shows all year,” Benzedrine pointed out. “You were too busy being dead.”

“Jeez, learn to take a compliment.” Poison fumbled for the keys to the Trans Am, ushering the boys to the back seat before taking his position at the wheel. 

“We can’t go to D’s,” said Kobra. “If Val’s really coming for us, he’ll know where to look.”

Dr. D’s station was well-guarded, but Poison knew Kobra was right. They couldn’t put the location in danger. 

“We’ll head for Tommy’s,” he decided. “We can wait there until…” He swallowed hard against the lump that rose in his throat. “Until we get out of here.”

They couldn’t afford to wait any longer. The decision was made: the Fabulous Killjoys were leaving the desert.

Or, three of them were.

***

The air in Tommy Chow Mein’s shop felt suffocating. Poison sat on the counter, his fingertips drumming against it. Cherri had shown up soon after they did, and he and Kobra were talking quietly in the corner. Poison didn’t want to hear their conversation. It could be their last, he would save them some privacy.

Decaydance hopped onto the counter next to Poison.

“You have to send messages back to us, okay?”

His anxiety was sort of touching. Poison knew he hated that he couldn’t come along. It might be difficult to communicate across the miles, but he would try his best. Knowing he had friends out in the zones would be a comfort. All the more reason to keep fighting.

“I’ll try,” he said. “But even if I can’t, I’ll be thinking about you guys. Don’t blow up the station while I’m gone.”

Decay laughed, beginning a witty comeback, but he was interrupted by Tommy. His words were curt as ever, but they brought a deafening quiet across the shop.

“Killer’s back.”

Killer King stepped out from the back room, looking nervous. 

“Guys, I’ve got some news. It’s important.”

“Spit it out, then,” said Poison. Killer’s unease was infectious; Poison could already feel his heartbeat accelerate. 

Killer swallowed hard. “We should get going now. Like, right now.”

“Why?” Jet Star asked. “Just say it. What happened?”

“It’s Fun Ghoul,” Killer whispered.

Poison’s heart seized.

“He’s in Battery City.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we have it! the finale. over the next few days I'll be making some minor edits to this fic, just polishing it up, then I'll start writing the sequel and post it. i hope you've all enjoyed, and will continue to do so! <3
> 
> UP NEXT: This City Was Built to Burn
> 
> STATUS: Posted


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